Skip to main content

Full text of "The Poems of the Pleasures: Consisting of The Pleasures of Imagination, by ..."

See other formats


Google 



This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on Hbrary shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project 

to make the world's books discoverable online. 

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject 

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books 

are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover. 

Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the 

publisher to a library and finally to you. 

Usage guidelines 

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the 
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we liave taken steps to 
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying. 
We also ask that you: 

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for 
personal, non-commercial purposes. 

+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine 
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the 
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help. 

+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find 
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it. 

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just 
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other 
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of 
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner 
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe. 

About Google Book Search 

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers 
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web 

at |http : //books . google . com/| 



//y: A^C,. ^ 





THE 



POEMS OF THE PLEASUKES: 

COMSISTINO OP 

THE PLEASURETOF IMAGINATION, 

BT MARK AKENSIDE, H.D.} 

THE PLEASUIIES OF MEMORY, 

B7 SAMUEL ROGGBS, ESQ.; 

THE PLEASURES OF HOPE, 

BY. T&OBIAS CAMPBELL, A.M.; 

THE PLEASURES OF FRIENDSHIP, 

BT JAMES M'HENRY, M.D. 
WITH 

A BCEBIKOZR OF EACH AUTHOR, 

AND 

fdi BissettatCon on eac)) Voem, 

FREFARED EXPRESSLY FOR THIS WORK. 



^llClalieliyfifrK: 

J. B. L I P P I N C O T T* & CO., 

OORRBR OF f OVRTH AHD RACB ST. 
1841. 



Harvard College Library 
July 1, 1915 
Gift of 
Mts. A Lawrence Lowell 



^ 



Entbbsd according to Act of CongrosBi in the year 1840, 

by J. B. LippufcoTT St Co. 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of 

Pennsylvania. 



I 



^■TSIISOTTPSD BT L. JOHHSOM, 
VKILADIftPBIA. 



PREFACE. 



A CLAM of ethical poems on the PuAsnun 
ble from the mental facolties and emotions, appears to 
be peculiar to modem times and to British liteiatnre. 
Among the poems transmitted to us by the ancients, 
that "which makes the nearest approach to the charac- 
ter of these productions, is the Art of Love, by Oyid. 
Had this poem been entitled the Pleasures of Love, 
it might ha\re been supposed, not only as legitimately 
belonging to the class in question, but as ^ being its 
earliest successful example. 

But if Oyid's poem even possessed the family name, 
it would not, in truth, be entitled to claim relationship 
to the British productions. It diflfers from them in 
characteristics much more essential than the mere 
name. They inyestigate the sources of our nobler 
faculties and feelings, and celebrate the enjojrments 
which those feculties and feelings confer. These ans 
employments worthy of the philosophical and moral 
muse. Not so were the purposes for which Orid 
wrote. It is not the nature of love, but the art of 
seduction that he teaches. It is not the joys of affec- 
tion, but the excitements of appetite that he depicts. 
To have called his poem the Pleasures of Love, would 

3 



4 PREFACE. 

hare been misnaming it, for it is not rational love, bat 
animal passion that is his theme ; nor is it trae plea- 
sure — ^it is loathsome indulgence that he celebrates. 
Sound judgment, tj^^r^ore, w'M pombine with gpod 
taste in rejecting the pretensions of Ovid's poem to be 
classified with the valuable works under considera- 
tion. 

The poetry of some of the existing mitiimfi of the 
European continent, may possibly contain some work 
worthy of being admitted into the family of the 
British '^Pleasures." But any such work is un- 
known to the present writer, who, after taking some 
^ains to inquire, feels satisfied that there exists, at 
least no series of such works, out. of the pale of Bri- 
tish poetry. He is also persuaded that to the author 
of the Pleasures of Imagination alone, justly belongs 
the honour of originating a species of poetical com- 
positions by which modern literature has been so 
gr^tly enriched. 

It is true that the faculties and feelings of Imagi- 
nation, Memory, Hope, Friendship, Love, Charity, 
Plety^ Melancholy, Mirth, &c., have, from the very 
origin of poetry, been the favourite themes of its cnl- 
ttvators. But until the production of '^The Pleasures 
bf Im^uiation,'' these themes were most frequently 
treated in connexion with others, as topics of illus- 
tration or digression; or when treated separately, it 
was in snch compositions as odes, pastorals, songs, 
sonnetSi, &c.-— compositions which, however pleasing 
in themselves, are of a structure and character quite 



PRKFACK. 5 

different from the more extensiTe, pfailosophicfti, 
and preoepttre productionB, of which Akenside, in 
the above-mentioned splendid poem, set the example. 

Previous to Akenside's poem there, indeed, existod 
in our own language two exquisite productions, which 
have a claim much superior to that of Ovid's licen- 
tious work, to be classed with the poetical series now 
before us. These are the II Penseroso &nd L'AUegn^ 
of Milton, which might with propriety have been 
called ««Tlie Pleasures of Melancholy," and <«The 
Pleasures of Mirth." But names cannot impart 
natures, and even with such titles, these poems could 
not with propriety have been placed in the class of 
productions under consideration. Their brevity pre- 
cludes the range and variety of philosophio«d and 
moral reflection so characteristic of the Poems of the 
pleasures— they are purely descriptive, consisting 
altogether of a grouping of poetical imagfs exquisitely 
conceived and expressed, delineating Melancholy and 
Mirth, but without investigating tiie natural sources of 
tiiese feelings,or deducing precepts from their operation. 

Besides the productions selected for this volume, 
there have been published in our language, since the 
time of Akenside, several poems of kindred titles 
and, in some respects, of kindred structure, bttt not of 
kindred poetical spirit. Among these have been The 
Pleasures of Melancholy, The Pleasures of Religion* 
The Pleasures of Love, The Pleasures of Retire- 
ment, and notwithstanding the absurdity of its title. 
The Pleasures of Poverty. But, if T. WArfon*s 

1* 



9 PREFACE. 

sliort effiisioD, Th& Pleasures of Melaneholy, be ex- 
cepted, tibese all soon became wearied of tbe light of 
day, and shrank back into primeval darkness. They 
had not yitality enough to bear the glare of this scru- 
tiniwg world* They would consequently be oat of 
plaoe in this volume. 

Of one of these poems, however, << The Pleasures 
o£ Religion,'^ by the Rev. Dr. Pise, of New York, it 
is bat just to say, that although heavy on the whole, 
it contains 'many elegant and striking passages. The 
subject, we suspect, betrayed the reverend anther 
too deeply into theological disquisition for the general 
taste of poetical readers. Besides it is a subject, 
which, although exhaustless when employed in ex* 
pressing the outpourings of devotional fedings, 
affords, at this period of the world, but few new 
topics to attract the more secular portion of mankind. 
Not, indeed, that this fittest of all subjects for sub- 
lime and fervid poetry, has, or ever will, become 
incapable of inspiring strains of the meet animadng 
and attractive poetry, but that it must be an order of 
intellect of the highest and rarest deaenpli&aj that 
sball l^ capable of receiving such ioeipiration. To 
write suitable and popular poetry on the subject of 
Religion, would require the ardent minstrelsy of a 
David, the soaring imagination of a Milton, or the 
deep en^usiasm of a Young. Neither the enesgy of 
ft Dryden, the harmony of a Pope, nor the fervency «f 
a Byroj^ would be sufficient, it is, in facti one of Uie 
vft^% ]b9?aTdouf| snippets that a modern poet ean ate 



PR8PACK. 7 

t«B^, ibr iiiiless he produces strains equal to those 
of the mighty bards of pioas song, who hare already 
eachaated the world, the probability is that he will 
sing in vain. 

On the subject of Lore, it is still more difficult for 
a modern poet to produce any thing new than on even 
Itot of Religion; for while it is a subject of much 
nanower range, it has been as frequently, as con* 
stantly, and as universally the theme of poetic rn* 
spinition. No wonder, therefore, that the **' Pleasures 
of Love," by Stewart, was a failure, notwithstanding 
ihfi fine poetical tone of many of its passages. 

The other unsuccessful poems bearing the name of 
'^ Pleasures," merit no particular observatiim. They 
failed from the most common cause of poetical fnlures^ 
the inability of their authors to impart to tkem the 
qualities that command success. 
. The poems included in this volume are, in tet^ 
the only ones of the class that have as yet taken a 
permanent hold of the public mind. They were 
those alone, therefore, which the publisher, who 
was d^8iroua of making a book entirely acceptablsy 
felt warranted to lay before the reader. The eet»t 
blifthed character of these poems giving asauranoe «f 
a demand for them suHcient to authorize aa on|»* 
mented edition, great care has been taken and expem§ 
inewned, in the mechjamoal execution and embelliah- 
mfuat of- the book, so as to render it suitable ftr the 
centre table as well as the study room, and to make 
i% also an apipiopriate voliime for presenta^on. 



8 PRBFACB. 

To render the rolume still more acceptable, m«iiDirs 
of the authors, and dissertations on the poems, pre- 
pared expressly for this edition, are inserted, the 
value of which, it is trusted, will be appreciated by 
the public. These additions, evidently both useful 
and interesting, in conjunction with the mechanical 
elegance and the acknowledged poetical merit of the 
volume, the publisher flatters himself, will cause it to 
be hailed by all lovers of true poetry, as a welcome 
book, that will, in a tasteful and convenient form, 
furnish them with ^he means of intellectual enjoy- 
ment of the most refined and rational description that 
poetical literature can afford. 

The poems here published are confessedly among 
the most popular in the language; and to say that 
they will, for generations to come, continue to be so, 
is no hazardous prediction ; for the favour they have 
received is owing to no temporary or extraneous cir- 
cumstance attending either their authorship or their 
publication. It springs from causes entirely inherent 
in themselves, and which will continue to operate, 
without diminution or decay, so long as the language 
in which they are written continues to be spoken, 
and the hearts and understandings of men remaun bub- 
oeptible of receiving impressions from the charms of 
beautiful poetry. 

The subjects of these poems have been judiciously 
ohosen. Imagination, Memory, Hope, Friendship, 
aie all well adapted for the inspiration of poetical 
fervour and the suggestion of poetical setttiment. 



FBKPAOI. 9 

Ip^ a^ fedii^ aw^ened by theie •ubjeol«, •rery 
reader can enter. Nor were they already too much 
ei^kau9tMl by hating been &e constant themes of all 
preeedtng poets. They were subjects that could yet 
fiu^sh genias with new points of attraction in which 
to exhibit them ; and the poets who so happily made 
them the themes of their song in the works hers 
faronght together, could elucidate their natdre, and 
show forth their charms with freedom and boldness, 
unsestrioted and unhampered by the fear of encroach- 
ing on the labours of others, or of presenting to the 
world anticipated views or images with which it was 
already funiliar. 

Akenside, who, as has been already observed, led 
the way into this beautiful field of poetical Pleasures, 
was more indebted to a previous writer for the leading 
topics of his work, than aiiy of his successors. But 
it was to a prose writer. The excellent essays of 
Addison on Imagination, published in the Spectator, 
fitmished the poet not only with the design of his 
work, but with many of its topics, so that it has been 
said, with only a partial regard to truth, that he has 
merely versified Addison's prose. There is a suffi- 
ciency of the poet's own creation in his noble produc- 
tion, to prove his capacity for original thinking. He 
has besides the important advantage over his sucoes- ^ 
soars, that, however much his subject, may have been 
preoccupied in prose, it was comparatively unknown 
to . poetry. He has cultivated ground fresher and ^ 



10 PRIFACK. 

newer to the mases than any other of the poets of the 
" PleasQiee." 

Rogers did not find the safaject of Memory so un- 
appropriated. His work was not only preceded hy 
the beautiful and well known Ode of Mason to &at 
faeulty, but there were scattered througrhout the 
poetry of the elder bards, a thousand allusions to the 
joys of •vanished years ; and from time immemorial, 
the endearing recollections of youthful scenes and 
past pleasures had been standing subjects for senti- 
ment and song. '^ '-■'*** 

Campbell and M^Henry found their respective sub- 
jects much in the same predicament. Cowper had 
forestalled both these poets even more strikingly than 
Mason had done Rogers. The bard of Hope, in par- 
ticular, when he appeared with his immortal produc- 
tion, found the world in possession of an exceUent 
poem on the same subject, by the author of the Task. 
The same emioent author had written on Friendship, 
not indeed so elaborately as on Hope, but yet in 
strains sufficiently pleasing and popular to render any 
attempt to invoke the muses on the same subject 
somewhat hazardous. 

StiU the subjects of Memory, Hope, and Friendship 
were far from being eiihausted* They yet afforded 
ample scope for originality of thought and freshness 
of expression ; and that their respective poets suffi- 
ciently availed themselves of this advantage, the 
numerous novel beauties of their productions, which 
the world has been neither slow in discovering, nor 



PRIFACI. 11 

backward in acknowledgtngt bear abandant t6ati« 
mony^ 

An attempt to assign the superiority of merit to 
either of the four poems in this yolame, would be ill- 
judged, for each reader will be inclined to prefer that 
which conforms most to his own particular taste* As 
each poem, howcTcr, has distinct and peculiar cba* 
racteristics, it will not be improper to point them out 
succinctly to the attenti<m of the reader. 

The Pleasures of Imagination is, beyond doubt, the 
most uniformly exalted in its topics and allusions, it 
takes the widest range in the management of its sub- 
ject, and is the most avowedly philosophical work of 
the series. It is, at the same time, the most diffi- 
cult to comprehend, being in many passages dis- 
agreeably obscure. Its composition probably required 
a greater exertion of reflective talent than any of the 
others. It abounds in profound analyses and deduc- 
tions, which could not have been effected without 
great powers of ratiocination. There is in it, besides, 
sufficient indication of a fervid fancy and an inventive 
imagination, to mark the author a true poet. But 
whether these high attributes will, in the opinion of 
the majority of readers, atone for the absence of sim- 
plicity, ease, and perspicuity, and of every thing 
resembling those delightful homefelt passages to be 
found in each of the other poems, may be doubted. 
It may, however, be safely asserted that a respectable 
minority at least, will be disposed to regret the 
almost entire absence^ of the latter cpialltiee, and to 



IS FREFACE. 



that an additional sprinkling of them, would 
have been a desirable substitute for much of the noLg* 
nifioent philosophy and elevated imaginings which 
now characterize the poem. 

The Pleasures of Memory has indications of being 
written with more caution and labour than any of the 
sister poems. Its topics and images seem to have 
been selected with much care and some timidity, 
although always with judgment and in accordance 
with true taste. Its Tersification is so smooth and 
equable, that it is almost monotonous. It has, in 
fact, been polished to attenuation. This extreme 
guardedness has rendered this agreeable poem inferior 
to the others in the range of its thoughts and in Hi^ 
freedom of its diction; but it has apparently the 
highest mechanical finish of them all. 

The Pleasures of Hope is perhaps the most brilliant 
didactic poem in the language ; and it is correspond- 
ingly popular. It takes a sufficiently wide and ele* 
vated view of the pleasing influence of Hope, and 
selects topics for the illustration of that influence, 
which are naturally well adapted for poetical repre- 
sentation. It handles these with a freedom often 
partaking of abruptness, and turns off into digressions 
sometimes scarcely connected with the main subject, 
and but remotely elucidative of.it, yet so beautiful 
that <no reader would consent to their extinction. The 
versification of this poem is, taken altogether, perhaps 
the most exquisite specimen of the ten syllable cou- 
plet in the language. No poem of Pope-r4iot even 



PASFACS. t$ 

Bl<Ma to Aboard— fiurpMses it in nelliinoaf nesft ; 
while in freedom, ease, and irariety of moyeaieoty it 
seema to leave even that melodious poem behind. Iti : 
chanMteristic beaatiee aie boldnesa, enoTgy, and dig* • 
ni^ of thought, and teraenesa, gracefnhiesa, and har- 
meay of ezpiesaion. Its chief blemishes aie an oo- 
casioaal obscority of reasonii^, an abroptneiia in 
changing the topics, and too gteat a temoteneas o£ 
ai^icatioa in the iUnstrations. 

The Pleasures of Friend^p difl^s from llie pn* 
ceding poems io the move tangible nature of it9 sab* 
jeot. Imagination, Memory, and Hope ure fiieulties; 
Friendship is a feeling. Our ideas of the first tkaee wae 
abstract ooneeptions whieh we form of cevtoim powanft 
or operations of the mind ; the last is a palpable, ptes** . 
ing sensation whose soot is m the heart, whose presdnoB 
is welcomed and cherished, and whose influence per- 
vades almost every occurrence of life. This poem is, in 
consequence, more practical in its tone, more homefelt 
in its topics, and generally more heart-warming in its 
delineations than any of the others. In regard to its 
versification, if it has not the pomp and the sounding 
energy of the Pleasures of Hope, it has equal variety 
and ease, and more simplicity, clearness, and sponta- 
neous melody. Its couplets are much Ijbss laboured, 
and may not, therefore, be so compact and equable 
as those of the Pleasures of Memory, but they flow 
with more grace and freedom ; and, while they have 
more volubility, they have, at least, equal sweetness. 
The chief power of this poem consists in its pathos; 

3 



14' PESrACB. 

and in reference to its sisters in this collection, it is 
farooiBbly distingaished for its perspicbity, and the 
close applicability of its illustrations. Its descrip- 
tions afBi-nnifonnly trae to nature, and its language 
is at once highly poetical and remarkable for yemacn- 
lar pnrity and precision. Being the least abstrset 
poem in the Tolume, it has the fewest flights into the 
airy regions of speculation. By some, this may be 
considered a defect, while others, who prefer the 
poetry which teaches the heart to that which exer- 
cises the intellect, will deem it an advantage. 

This comparison of the leading characteristics of 
tlieee four noble poems, has been made designedly 
short, because a more minute inrestigation of the 
peouliar merits and defects of each will appear pre- 
fixed to it, in its proper place in the Tolvmie. 



CONTENTS. 



TBC PLKJUnTBES OF iMAaiNATIOir. 

Memoir of Akenside 19 

JDiwertation 27 

Poem 45 

The Pleasures of Memoet. 

Memoir of Rogers 125 

Dissertation 133 

Poem 143 

The Pleasvxeb of Hope. 

Memoir of Campbell . . . . . 191 

Dissertation 201 

Poem . . 219 

The Pleasures of Friendship. 

Memoir of M'Heniy 273 

Dissertation 283 

Poem 297 



15 



AKENSIDE'S 

PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. 

A POEM IN THREE BOOKS. 



9 



MEMOIR 

OF 



MARK AKENSIDE, M.D. 



This poet, distinguished as the originater of tht 
Poems oi the Pleasures, was a native of Newcafftle^ 
upon-Tyne, where he was born on the 9th of No* 
vember, 1721. His father was a respectable btttch^y 
noted for ni<Nral and leligious deportmeirt, and s^ouf 
in his attaohment to the Presbyterian sect of dJA* 
senters. Kis mother's name was Mary LumsdeOf 
of decent, although not w€«dthy parentage. Mark 
received the rudiments of his education at the gmm- 
mar siohool of Newcastle. He was afterwards placet) 
wder the tuition of a Mr. Wilson, who kept a palate 
aeadeaay in the same town. 

The religious pf edilecttons of his father rendeieA 
him desirous that his son should he educated Um the 
office of a Preflbytenan aanisler ; and with this visiTt 
Mark was* at the age ai eighteen, sent to dm Urnvwr* 
tti|r«f Edinbstrgh. Here he reoeived some assisianM 
from the fund employed by the Church of SooUaad in 
edueatiog young men of limited means« lor the mtnii? 
try. But from some cause unknown*-— pvohs^ly Ikvmi 

19 



90 MEMOIR OF AKBN8IDE. 

that which has induced many yoangr men, under simi- 
lar circumstances, to disappoint the wishes of their 
parents in regard to the clerical profession, a reluc- 
tance to assume the solemn responsibilities which a 
proper discharge of its duties imposes, — he changed the 
nature of his studies, and directed his attention to the 
acquirement of medical knowledge. It is no slight 
eridence of conscientious feelings having an influence 
in producii^ this change in his pursuits, that he^ 
Toluntarily returned to the trustees of the Presbyterian 
fond, the money he had recdved from them, deeming 
it dishonourable to retain it when he no longer intended 
to fulfil the conditions on which it had been given. 
This creditable act may also be considered a proof of 
fhe care which had been taken by his parents, to im- 
press his mind with a due regard for the obligrations 
of morality, and the requirements of honour in his 
intercourse with the world. 

He continued nearly three years at Edinburgh, and 
then, in 1741, removed to ihe Dutdi University of 
Leyden, where, in 1744, he took his degree of 
Doctor of Medicine. The thesis which, according to 
oollegiate custom, he wrote on t^is occasion, drew 
considerable attention, on account of the power of 
professional research and the sound philosophical rea- 
soning which it displayed. The subject was, ** The 
Origin and Growth of the Human Fcetus," in which 
he vwy judieionsly combatted the tiieory then estab* 
Ushed, and brought forward that which has since been 
uniFemdly adopted. 



MIMOIR OF AKENSIDI. JUl 

Whether Akenside conoetyed» and altogether wrote 
Tk» Pleasures of Imag^natioDt while at Leydeo^ is 
uoknown ; bat that he fimshed it there is eert^ioi £of 
soon after receiriog his degreot he yisited London 
wfch the mairaseript, which he offered to the celebrated 
boeiu»ller, Dodsiey. This publishery although in 
giraeral a liberal eneoarager of the muses, hesitated in 
tibe purchase on account of the price,-— a hundred and 
twenty pound8,-<-which was demanded by the nameless 
and unknown author. He asked permission to con- 
salt Mr. Pope. That great poet at once discerned the 
merit of the work, and advised Dodsiey to accede to 
the author's terms, observing, ** This is no every-day 
writer." 

The poem was received by the public with great 
favour, and raised its author at onee to a high rank 
among the po^ of the day. Soon after its appeai- 
aace, Akenside issued a severe political invective 
against the famous Poulteney, Earl of Bath, in an 
^istle signed ^^ Curio," whom, in the ardour of 
patriotism, he assails as the betrayer of his country. 

In 1745, he published a ^' Hymn to the {>f aiads," 
and a variety of odes, which, although they added 
nothing to the reputation he had gained by the Ple»- 
suTes of Imagination, showed him to be well versed 
in Grecian philosophy, and a warm admirer of dassical 
literature. The poetical miscellany called ** Dod8ley*4i 
Collection," contains many of his poetical effusion0, 
chiefty odesi, which he, from time to time, continued for 
several years to produce, but none of which would 



98 HSMOIR OP AKKWSIDB. 

perhaps, at ^is time, be read or known, had they not 
been written by the author of the Pleasnies of Imagi- 
nation. Not that they are without merit. Tlie Hymn 
to the Naiads, in particular, is worthy of Akenside's 
&me. But the pieces, in general, are no better than 
a thousand other fugitive poems, scattered throughout 
the periodical publications of the last and pieseat 
centuries, which, from not having names of celebrity 
attached to them, never attracted much notice, and aie 
npw as utterly unknown as if they had never existed. 
Akenside, having thus made an impression in the 
world of letters, found the achievement to be produc- 
tive of more fame than profit; and being without 
patrimony, he also found that the liatter was the more 
necessary of the two, not only for procuring him the 
comforts of life, but for enabling him to act conscien- 
tiously in the fulfilment of its obligations. He therefore 
turned his views towards establishing himself profit- 
ably in his profession. With this object, he setded 
at Northampton. But his success there was not 
answerable to his wishes. Dr. Stonehouse, a practi- 
tioner of very popular manners, was already there so 
well established, that it was not easy for a young man 
whose poetical eclipsed his medical reputation, to 
supplant him in the estimation of any great portion of 
the inhabitants, without a longer struggle than the 
impatient temperament of the poet would permit. 
Tired of a contest which he deemed hopeless, he re- 
moved to Hampstead, where he remained about two 
years in the enjoyment of only a moderate share of 



MfiMOIR OF AKENSIDE. 9S 

professional patrona^. He then settled finally in 
London, where his praciiee would have been quite 
inadequate to his support, but for the uncommon gene* 
roaity of Mr. Jeremiah Dyson, a gentleman whose 
disinterested friendship for our bard, in allowing him 
a gratuitous annuity ef three hundred pounds, deserves 
to be mentioned as a most singular and honourable 
instance of benevolence and well applied bounty* It 
also speaks well for the conduct and manners of. 
Akenside, that he was capable of inspiring a gentle- 
man of known discrimination and fine parts, with 
sneh a favourable opinion of his merits. 

That Akenside did not abuse the liberality of his 
fiiend, is evident from the incessant efforts which he 
made to draw attention to his professional qualifica- 
tions. He for some years altogether alMindoned 
poetry, in the probably just belief, that his poetical 
r^otation was the great obstacle to his professional 
soccess. He did more ; he became a Fellow of the 
Royal Society, a Fellow of the London College of 
Phystdans, one of the Physicians to St. Thomas's: 
Hospital ; and in addition to his Leyden degree, ob- 
tained one by mandamus from the University of 
Cambridge. He also gave a course of lectures on 
Anatomy. 

In consequence of these efforts, his practice became, 
if not extensive and lucrative, at least sufficient fbr 
genteel competenoe. In* the year 1764, his reputation 
both as a physician and a schcdar, was much. in- 
eieased by the publication of a treatise, written in fine 



94 MEMOIR OF AKENSIDB* 

Ladii) on the Epidemic Dysentery of that year. He 
had before this written iranous pieces of acknowledged 
merit, on medical subjects j and now a professional 
honour was conferred upon him of no inconsiderate 
advantage. On the settlement of the queen's houa^ 
hold, he was appointed one of ]|er majesty's physi- 
cians, a promotion which was, no doubt, greatly 
owing to the active influence of his steady and witir* 
iilg friend Mr. Dyson, aided certainly by the deserred 
repute which his own labours had acquired. 

It must not be concealed that one cause of the slow 
advancement of this able and industrious man, in the 
profession which he had selected as the means of his 
support, is stated to have been a certain haughtiness and 
ostentation of manner, which he assumed in his inter* 
course with his brethren of the faculty, which ren- 
deied hun* unpleasant on consultations, and ooca« 
slotted him to be generally avoided by eminoDt pvaie* 
titioners. His admission, however, into so. mangr 
medical associations, would seem to prove this charge^ 
to be unfounded, at least to the extent that is alleged ; 
and the long continued, unwavering solicitude of Mf. 
Dyson, for his welfare, as has been already inlhnated^ 
oflbrs a strong presumption that ta manners he ooeid 
not have been a great offender against the lawe of 
nrbattHy and decorum. The truth piebobly ufy fiat 
conscixMM of desert and iaipetient of neglect, heney 
have spmetimee, perhaps fiequextly^ itidulged m 
qaeraloQS renerks, or in ex^ressiaaisieffiiiseofttenl'a^ 
willieBsiiig tiw superior seeoese of tednipetttert, whom 



MEMOIR OF AKBN8IDE. 95 

he knew to be far inferior to himself in. either talents 
or learning. However this may be, just as this emi- 
nent poet and worthy man appeared to have overcome 
all obstacles to his success in life, he was taken off by 
a putrid fever, in the year 1770, in the forty-ninth year 
of his age. ' 

For several years before his death, Akenside was 
employed in revising and remodelling the Pleasures 
of Imagination. This reformed work he left unfi- 
nished. It was nevertheless printed, and exhibited 
the poem pruned of much of its verbosity, and 
rendered less obscure. But unfortunately, it had 
lost in mellowness and splendour more than it had 
gained in density and clearness. Its philosophy was 
better, but its poetry was worse. It was considerably 
augmented. An entire new book was added, con- 
taining an episode, entitled **'The Tale of Solon,'* 
which Dr. Johnson characterizes as being too long^ 
another mode of charging it with dulness. It was 
fortunate for the poetical fame of Akenside, that the 
world was unwilling to receive this version as a sub- 
stitute for the original work. The printing of it was 
injudicious; as it furnished evidence that years, 
aided no doubt by the plodding anxieties of a profes- 
sional life long do6med to mortifications and disappoint- 
ments, if they had not quite extinguished, had at least 
so weakened the poetical fire of the author's tempera- 
ment, as to bring it altogether under the chilling control 
of philosophical rules and the laws of mechanical 

critieism. 

3 



DISSERTATION 

ON THE 

POEM OP THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. 



It was unquestionably the essay of Addison in the 
Speetator, on the Pleasures ai the Imagination, which 
drew the attention of Akenside to this subject. Yet 
It is an error too generally adopted, to suppose that 
the poet was indebted to the essayist, not only for the 
general design of his work, but for the greater portion 
of its materials. Writing on the same subject^ he 
could not, with propriety, avoid introducing many of 
the same topics. The essayist tmees -the PlMSons 
of the Imagination, as induoed by the impTOasion of 
▼isible objects on ^e memory, -to their Inie >«ourCe8, 
greatness, wonderftilness, and beauty. The poet 
would have been false to nature, had he, from the 
puerile desure of unnecessary originality, traced 
those pleasures to any other than the same sources. 
All that could be required of him on this part 
of his subject, was that the manner of tracing 
them should be his own. Architects, in erectiag dif- 
finrent stmctoies, may use the same materials without 

87 



38 DfSSERTATION ON THE 

t 

becoming copyists of each other. The maible, the 
mortar, the wood, and the iron may be identical in 
quality, nay, even in quantity, yet if the one stroo- 
ture be a church and the other a palace, who will 
deny to either builder the credit due to the originality 
displayed in the particular formation and embellish- 
ment of his edifice? 

Akenside, in fact, with the exception of deriving 
the enjoyments of the imagination from the three 
sources before mentioned, differs so widely from Addi- 
son, in his manner of viewing and handling their 
lM>inmoft snlijeet, as to leave scarcely ahy resemblance 
lidtween them. Addison's topics and allusions aia 
till, or neariy all, of a material andVoridly character, 
^Ipable and comprehensible to the most common 
imderstandtng. Akenside's, on the contrary, are so 
Intellectually abstract, and so ethereally elevated, as 
to require fer their comprehension, a mind closely 
iittenfiivf to the subject, and dii^osed to follow the 
poet in his flights into the regions of metaphysicB, 
br amidst the creations of sublimated ^uiey* 

There are, as Addison has stated, two ktuds of plea- 
surps produced by the imagination ; those wbioh flow 
fiom the operations^ mind alone, and those whioh 
an derived through the medium of the senses. To 
the latter, Addison avowedly limits his speoulationB. 
But Ai:in8ide confines his muse within no such limits. 
Oil the toontrary, although he does not exclude from 
his soDg the pleasures derived through the senses, 
yet the greater portion of the imaginative enjoyments 



PLBABVRK9 09 IlTAeiNirTIOff. W 

which he celebrates, are pnrriy inteHeotinl. His 
muse delights to lose faerselfin luxuriant abstnustions* 
She soais amidst the radiance of ethereal magnificenoey 
and contemplates yisions conceivable only by tble soul 
far purer and grander than the corporeal £ight could 
ever have furnished. ..^.^ > 

Speaking of corporeal vision, Addison says, " It is 
this sense which fiirnisfaes the imagination with its 
ideas; so that by the pleasures of the imaginatioa or 
*&ticy,' (which I shall use promiscuously,) I hevs 
mesa such as arise from visible objects, dther when 
we have them actually in our view, or when we call 
them up into our minds by paintings," &c. In aft* 
other place of the same p^per, r^erring to the xeaderi 
he says, " I must desire him to remember tliat by * the 
pleasures of the imagination,' I mean only soeh pleik 
sares as arise originally from the sight." 

Such is Addison's avowal of his theme. Bui 
Akenside sings, in preference, of the nwnU joys of thA 
imagination, suoh as spring from the eontemplatiofi of 
truth and wisdom and virtue. He exelaimsy— 

<<Forwhattietll 
The fonmi which brute unjboaBeioas matter weu% 
GreetoeM of bulk and fymmetij of pert* ? 
Not reaching to the hearty soon feeble grows 
The superficial impulse ; dull their charms 
And satiate soon, and pall the languid eye. 
Not so the moral species, nor the powers 
Of genlw and design ; th* ambitioas misd 
Then aeet herself: by these congenial ffcms 
Touch'd and VRrakanM* with iateoMr act 

3* 



3ft StatlBTATION OK THE 

ShelHffdi «Mh nerre, and veditAtes well ple^wd 
,4{e(i<;»ture8 in the mirror. For of all 
Tl^ uilialDitants of earth, to roan alooe 
Creative Wisdom gave to lift his eye 
To Tridh*8 eternal measures ; thence to frame 
The saered laws of action and of will, 
Discerning justice from unequal deeds, 
' And temperance from folly." 

^ Thds) the great object of Akenside is to tmee the 
¥Ubi^Ai enjoyments yielded by the imaginaetion, in pre- 
Pit«/tLC6 to those of mere material origin, arising; i^om 
** gr^tness of bulk and symmetry of parts/' and to 
skow hotr " Creathre Wisdom'* gave man to look lip 
t^'^'Tbith'fr eternal measures," and thence to frame 
la#s of ^tion, and to discern justice from injostioe, 
and temperance from folly. 

"Sot iePreH had oar poet more closely followed in the 
path of Addison, ^th his bold and fertile hmf, and 
hfssonOMna and flowing verse, he coald not have 
Mled fb ptodMd a pleasing poem. The subject was 
wen Baited to set in motion all the powers of a mdnd 
such as his Was at the time he adopted it. Young, 
ardent, and ftewly aCored with the most brilliant 
images of hoth aaeient and modem poetry, as well as 
strongly impressed with admirationrfor l^e sublimities, 
wonders, and beauties of nature, he was well calculated 
to descant on the topics they suggested, and to eluci- 
date them in hombers, by a gloiK^ing arrangement of 
the ezhaustlesa imagery they supplied. AU the scm- 
tinixers of Ak^iaidd's genius have acknowledged 
ths spsdal fitness <tf a snbjeot so rieh in the iagre- 



PLSABVRCft or IMAttlHATION. 31 

dl#nts of Btrikiiig and brilliant poetry, for a vrit^ 
•oeh as he was, fiesh from the halls of academknl 
•tody, and teeming with classical enidition, and not 
yet cooled in his yonthful enthusiasm for the cbaiBUi 
of nataie, and for all that is bright in the character aad 
lacnltiee of man, by the disappointment of hopes too 
aangoine, or the mortifications of a spirit too proud to 
bear with equanimity the deceptions of worldly pro- 
mises, ^r the irritating annoyances of professional 
riralry, and the innumerable other vexations of a 
bostUng and dependent life. 

The imagination may be considered simply* tJU 
fight of the mind. It is the faculty by which we not 
only recall to contemplation, objects that we have 
once seen, bat by which we are enabled to discover 
diem arranged in new combinations, pvesentiiigfigttios 
oreated by the faculty of invention. TJie whole SJK* 
tent of creation, and all its regions, and their prodiio»> 
tlons, ^iritual as well as material, come within itf 
raage, and are subject to its supervision. It thus fur- 
nishes inexhaustible stores for poetry, whether in the 
form of direct thought, or of imagery for elacidatios 
and embellishment. When its enjoyments are, as in 
ibB case before us, made the subject of a poem, it is 
obvious that, if the poet knows how to avail himselC 
of the advantages of so fertile a thf me, he can never 
ho at a loss for pleasing topics, and ^propriate n^et^ 
phors at ones illustrative and ornamental. AU the 
works of nature are at his command for the purposes 
of song. Her countless charms and fasoi^onS'sre 



M DI8SKITATI0R ON THE 

spiMd before his view and offered to hie use. He 
has nothing to do but to choose from those ahnndaat 
•tores. Bnt to perform his task well, he most choose 
appropriately and pleasingly. His difficulty is not in 
the want of materials for choice, but in the embeimsa* 
ment occasioned by the superabundance of all that is 
attractiTe, exalted, and lovely being offered to his 
acceptance, and the necessity he is under of selecting 
the fairest where all things are so fair. His judgment 
and good taste are here put on their trial. He is 
placed in a condition in which the success of his 
labours will be in proportion to his discernment ra^er 
than his iuTentioa. 

That Akenside selected materials from the abandant 
field on which he had entered, with the taste of a 
poet, if not always with the skill of a philosopher^ 
the world has decided. That he overlooked many 
topics and illustrations which would have made a 
better figure in his poem than some that he adopted, 
is not to be denied. Bat in selecting from euch va* 
riety, where is the mortal who would make no mis- 
take t It may be also asked, where is the mortal 
who wonld have made fewer % 

We will now take a cursory view of tiie leading 
topics of this poem, and of the manner in which they 
are elucidated. We shall thus ascertain the propriety 
of their selection, and be enabled also to judge of the 
poetieal character of the style in which ihey w» 
treated. 

The chief object of the first book is the same as 



PLEASURES or IMAOINATION. 38 

thftt of Addison in the second and third papers of his 
essay on the Imagination. Jt is to show that the 
delight we receive from the contemplation of objeets 
arises from either their grreatness, their wonderfulness^ 
or their beauty. It is in this part of his work that our 
poet most closely follows Addison. In following the 
doctrines of Addison, however, he only follows the 
suggestions of truth. His manner of enforcing and 
illustrating these is entirely his own, and it is emi- 
nently poetical. He says, — 

** Know then, whate'er of Nature's pregnant stores, 
Whate'er of mimic art's reflected forms 
With love and admiration thus inflame 
The powers of fancy, her delighted sons 
To three illustrious orders have referr'd, ^ 
Three sister graces whom the painter's hand. 
The poet's tongue confesses,— the subltTne, 
The wonderful, the /air." 

In expatiating on the pleasure we derive from the 
eontemplation of greatness, he asks why man' was 
made so eminent in the creation, and rendered capable 
^ extending his thoughts beyond the limit of his 
existence, if it were not that his- aims might be ex- 
alted Uy the performance of mighty deeds pleasing to 
both mortals and immortals, — 

" While the voice 
Of truth and virtue, up the steep ascent 
Of nature, calls him to his high reward, 
Th' applauding smile of Heaven ?" 



34 DISSERTATION OK THE 

He then^rooeeds, in a bold strain of animated and 
majestic poetry, to exemplify the soarings of the 
daring and ambitious spirit of man, and shows how it 

« Pursues the flying stonn ; 
Rides on the voUey'd lightning through the heavens ; 
Or 3roked -with whirlwinds or the northern blast. 
Sweeps the long tract of day." 

He ascribes the grandeur of these aspirations of the 
human soul, to the intention of the Creator that she 
should not rest content with any condition short of 
absolute perfection. The inference is natural, that 
our admiration of sublime objects is implanted in us, 
as an incitement to exalted and ennobling desires for 
the attainment of a state of higher perfection. He 

exclaims,-^ 

<* How far beyond 
The praise of mortals, may th* eternal growth 
Of nature to perfection half divine, 
Expand the blooming soul ?*' 

He next proceeds to account for the uncommon and 
to wonderful affording enjoyment to the mind, by 
considering it a provision of the Deity to arouse us from 
sloth, and stimulate us to activity by an eagerness to 
enjoy the pleasure of novelty.- He exemplifies this 
by the impulses of curiosity, manifested by travellers 
who explore unknown regions, and by students who 
investigate with laborious diligence the secrets of 
nature, and by the strained attention with which old 
and young listen to tales of wonder:— 



PLBASURiS or IMAOIKATION. 35 

<* Hence finally at night 
The village mati^o, round the blazing hearth, 
Suspends the in&nt audience with her tales- 
Breathing astonishment ! of witching rhymes, 
And evil spirits ; of the death-bed call ; 
Of him who robb'd the widow, and devour'd 
The orphan's portion," fcc. 

Proceeding then to the enjoyments derived from 
beaoty, his verse becomes doubly inspired, and flows 
gldwingly in novbers, kindled into harmony by the 
raptarons blandishments of the theme :— - 

**0, bear then unreproved 
Thy smiling treasures to the green recess. 
Where young Dione stays. With sweetest airs 
Entice her forth to lend her angel form 
For beauty's honoured image. Hither turn 
Thy graceful footsteps ; hither, gentle maid. 
Incline thy polish'd forehead : let thy eyes 
Effuse the mildness of their azure dawn ; 
And may the fanning breezes waft aside 
Thy radiant locks: disclosing, as it bends 
With airy softness from the marble necK, 
The cheek £Bdr blooming and the rosy lip. 
Where winning smiles, and pleasures sweet as Jove> 
With sanctity and wisdom tempering, blend 
Their soft allurement*' 

He ajfterwards takes occasion to exalt the delights 
springing from moral beauty, above those, precioos 
as they are, which aie derived from the splendour 
and fascination of material fbnns :— 



3<^ DlSSfiATATlON OM THE 

'* Is aught SO faic 
In all the dewy landscapes of the spring* 
In the bright eye of Hesper and the moni> 
In Nature's fairest forms is aught so fair, 
As virtuous friendship ? as the candid blush 
Of him vfho strives with fortune to be just ? 
The graceful tear that streams for others' woes ? 
Or the mild majesty of private life. 
Where peace with ever-blooming olive crowni 
*The gate ; where honour's liberal hands effuse 
CTnenvied treasures, and the snowy wings 
Of Innocence and Love protect the scene." 

Our poet concludes this book with an animated 
apostrophe to the genius of ancient Greece, in which 
his enthusiasm for the beauties of classical song, and 
his reverence for the memory of the worthies of 
the Athenian age, are strongly manifested. He thus 
invokes the genius of the classic land : — 

« Bring all thy martial spoile, . 
Thy palms, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs. 
Thy smiling band of arts, thy godlike sires 
Of civil wisdom, thy heroic youth. 
Warm from the schools of gloiy." 

He then gives way to the feelings of a Briton, and 
with an ardour of patriotism for which he was noted 
among his contemporaries, he continues his invoca- 
tion: — 

" From the blooming store 
Of these auspicious fields, may I, unblamed. 
Transplant some living blossoms to adorn 
My native dime: while for above the iiight 
Of fancy's plume aspiring, I unlpek 



PLEASURK8 OF IMAGINATION. 37 

The springs of ancient wisdom ! while I join 

Thy name, thrice honour*d * with th' immortal praiBe 

Of Nature, while to my compatriot youth, 

I point the high example of thy sons, 

And tune to Attic themes the British lyi-e." 

The second book of this fine poem has scarcely any 
ideas in common with Addison's essay. It opens 
with a lamentation that the works of imagination, such 
as painting, scalpture, poetry, &c. had in modem times 
been applied to monkish purposes, rather than to the 
philosophical uses of instructing and polishing society. 
With the justice of this lamentation, we haye nothing 
to do. We may say, however, that we belieye it to 
be more poetical than just ; for with all our respect 
for ancient wisdom and genius, we believe that the 
imaginative arts have been as usefully and as wor- 
thily applied in modem times, as ever they were in 
the most flourishing period of Greece or Rome. But 
while we question the accuracy of oUr bard's opinions 
on this topic, we must do justice to the excellent 
poetry of the strains in which he maintains them. 

A large portion of this book is occupied by an alle- 
gorical episode, illustrative of the opinion that all the 
natural passions, hate, grief, anger, fear, &c., as well 
as love, joy, gratitude, hope, &c., are capable of com- 
municating pleasing emotions. Thus the indulgence 
of grief for the death of a beloved object, imparts a 
satisfaction to the mind which it would often not 
exchange for excitements of the most joyous descrip- 
tion. The incidents of the allegory may be related, 

- 4 



I 

i 



38 DISSERTATION ON THE 

for they are few, although the narrative is, by a won- 
derful propensity to amplification, extended to an un- 
reasonable, and we fear it has often been felt, an 
unpleasant length. An ancient sage, named Harmo- 
dius, wanders into the solitude of a wild wood to 
grieTe for the death of Parthenia. There, as he in- 
dulges in feelings^ of fretfulness concerning the con- 
dition of man, a.majeetic form appears to him, whom 
he knows to be the genius of human kind,— 

** WhoM words, 
Like distant thunders, broke the murmuring air." 

After reproying Harmodius for his murmuring 
against Providence, the genius tells him to 

(( Raise his sight, 
And let his sense convince his erring tongue.*' 

The scene is changed in its various features to cor- 
respond with the lesson which the genius now gives to 
his awe-stmck auditor, concerning the will of the 
Creator, in the origin of things, and in framing the 
laws by which the universe is governed :— - 

<* His parent hand 
From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore 
To men, to angels, to celestial minds. 
Forever leads the generations on 
To higher scenes of being; while supplied 
From day to day with his enlivening breath. 
Inferior orders in succession rise. 
To fill <he void helow." 

The genius then exhibits to hiin the vision of Vir- 
tue, as a beautiful goddess,— 



PLEABUREB OP IMAGINATION. f9 

** Withoat whose work diyine, in heaven or earth, 
Naught lovely, naught propitious comes to pass, 
Nor hope, nor praise, nor honour.*' 

With Virtue, the goddess of Pleasure, called ** the 
tui Euphrosyne," appears. Between them is seen 

** A smiling youth. 
Whose tender cheeks display'd the vernal flower 
Of heauty ; sweetest innocence illumed 
His bashful eyes, and on his poUsh'd brow 
Sate young simplicity.** 

This youth represents human nature. Witli much 
admiration he views both the goddesses. But Eu- 
phrosyne draws by far the greater share of his atten- 
tion, so that her more dignified and exalted associate, 
finding herself comparatively neglected, addresses the 
Divine Power on the subject :— 

" This enchanting maid. 
The associate thou hast given me, her alone 
He loves, O Father ! absent, her he craves : 
And but for her glad presence ever join'd. 
Rejoices not in mine : that all my hopes. 
This thy benignant purpose to fulfil, 
I deem uncertain.** 

The Divine Power replies, that if man refuses to 
hearken to her dictates, or transfers to any other the 
homage due to her <alone, the alluring Euphrosyne 
shall be prevented from accon^anying her; and in 
her stead the genius of Pain shall be sent :*— 

** The fiend abhorr*d ! whose vengeance takes aeoount 
Of sacred order's violated laws." 



40 DISSERTATION ON THE 

The disagpreeable substitate is accordingly made« 
and the yoath thus is at once punished for his impni- 
dence, and driven to repentance. The monster *' Pain" 
rashes upon him with fearful ferocity. The youth is 
struck with consternation and terror. Virtue hastens 
forward to save him : — 

« Soon the tyrant felt 
Her awfal power. His keen tempestuous arm 
Hung nerveless, nor descended where his rage 
Had aim'd the deadly blow: then dumh retired 
With sullen rancour. Lo ! the sovereign maid 
Folds with a mother's arms the fainting boy. 
Till life rekindles in his rosy check.'* 

She then cheers him in a beautiful and consoling 
expostulation. She tells him that, although He had 
so ardently placed his desires on the divine Euphro- 
syne, to the neglect of the higher aims and duties of 
hisl>eing, which she alone was empowered to reveal 
to him, yet he might fear nothing from the monster, 
whom she would enable him to overcome, if he would 
only confront him with due energy and courage :— 

" Vehement and swift 
As lightning fires the aromatic shade 
In Ethiopian fields, the stripling felt 
Her inspiration catch hb fervid souL" 

He avows his determination henceforward to yield 
firm obedience to the Divine will, through all scenes 
of either toil or peril. Yet he pleads for the return 
of his beloved Euphrosyne, and for this he addresses 
a prayer to Heaven, which is granted, and Enpliro- 



PLBA8URK8 OF IMAOI NATION. 41 

syne retnms to him, with a declantion that, while he 
confides in the aid of Virtue, she shall never leave 
him to the assaalts of the fiend whose fierce malignity 
he had jast experienced. The Tision of the goddesses 
and the youth then vanishes, and Haimodius is ad- 
dressed hy the genius :— 

'< There let thy soul Acknowledge its eomplaaiits, 
How blhid ! how impious ! There behold the ways 
Of Heaven's eternal destiny to man, 
Forever just, benevolent, and wise : 
That Virttte^t awful steps, howe'er pursued 
By vexing fortune and intrusive pain, 
Should never be divided from her chaste^ 
Her fair attendant Pleasure.** 

The genius continues to inculcate that pleasure is 
derivable, by the virtuous man, from all conditione in 
which he can be placed, and from all the passions by 
which he can be actuated : — 

« Ask the faithful youth. 
Why the cold urn of her whom long he loved. 
So often fills his arms ; so often draws 
His lonely footsteps at the silent hour. 
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears f 
O ! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds 
Would ve'er seduce his bosom to forget 
That sacred hour, when steeling from the noise 
Of care and envy, sweet remonstrance soothes, 
With virtue's kindest looks, his aching breast, 
And turns his tears to rapture." 

^ The third book of the poem scarcely equals the 
preceding two, in the elevation and boldness of ite. 

4* 



4S DISSERTATION ON THK 

fHglits. But it is more perspicuoas in its thoughts, 
and equally flowing and animated in its versification. 
One of its topics is remarkable for having excited a 
eo&troversy which drew great attention daring the 
last century, and does not deem even yet to be settled; 
namely, that ridicule is a test of truth. Akenside was 
not the father of this dogma, but he was its poetical 
sponsor. The celebrated Bishop Warburton, tlie com- 
mentator on Pope, assailed the position assumed by 
Akenside in this poem, with great force and severity. 
But our poet was zealously defended by his ever- 
constant, friend, Mr. Dyson, with so much success at 
least as to induce several writers of the day to espouse 
his cause. That cause, however, was in itself too weak 
to enlist on its side any but men of eccentric modes of 
thinking, or of saperficial understandings. The pre- 
dominance of opinion was then, and ever since has 
been, decisively against it, not only as to the number, 
but the character and talents of its adversaries. Dr. 
Johnson calls it an idle question, and summarily dis- 
poses of it by assuming the incontrovertible position, 
that before ridicule be admitted as an evidence of 
tra& or falsehood, it must itself be proved to be just. 
He might have gone farther« and shovA, thai even 
just ridicole is not, at all tunes, a test of falsehood. 
Ridicule attaches itself only to l^e externals of things, 
and is never succeissfally wielded even against extez^ 
nals, except when they are marked by something 
extravagant or absurd. It has no more to do with &e 
troth 01^ falsehood of a statement, than it has with 



PLEASUKS8 OF IMAOINAVION. 43 

the warmth or coldness of the weather. On the one 
handy truth may be so nttered — ^by a satMst or a 
stammerer, for instance^as to appear ridiculous; 
while, on the other, falsehood may be too grave-— as 
the wilful perjury which occasions a judicial decision 
against the innocent—for ridicule. Contempt, anger, 
malice, or any other of the adretse feelings, migiht as 
^ell be temed the tests of trath as rtdieule. The 
legitimate provocatiyes of ridicule are, in fact, x>n]y 
yanity and blundering folly. Unless connected with 
at least one of these, wickedness however great, and 
falsehood however palpable, will not excite ridicule. 
It is said that, in the revised copy of his work 
which he did not live to finish, Akenside omitted 
the passage in which the fallacious doctrine here 
exposed, is contadned. In so doing, he afforded good 
proof of conviction that he had the worst of the argn- 
ment. 

The last paragraph of the poem begins with some 
of the most delicious and valuable lines in it ; and 
they are so, because while they are equally harmo- 
mous in versification and splendid in diction, with 
any other part of it, they are unusually rich in pointed 
sentiment and clearness of expression. They remain 
with more tenacity on the memory, and are qnoted 
more frequently than other portion of the poem :^ 

-« O ! blesVof Heaven> whom not the laD|;uid songt 
Of luxury, the siren { not the bribes 
Of sordid wealth, nor aU the gaudy spoils 



44 DI88BBTAT10N, pTO. 

Of pftfmit honour, can seduce to leave 

Tboseveyer-blooming sweets, which from the store 

Of nature, fair imagination culls 

To charm th' enliyen'd soul * What though not all 

Of mortal offspring can attain the heights 

Of enyied life $ though only few possess 

Patridan treasures or imperial state $ 

Yet nature's care, to all her children just, ' 

With rieher treasures and an ampler state» 

Endows, at large, whatever happy man 

Will deign to use them." 



THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION, 

BOOK I. 



ARGUMENT. 



The subject proposed. Difficulty of treating it poetically. 
The ideas of the Divine Mind, the origin of every quality 
pleasing to the imagination. The natural varied of consti- 
tution in the minds of men ; with its final cause. The idea 
of a fine imagination, and the state of the mind in the.enjoy- 
ment of those pleasures which it affords. All the primary 
pleasures of the imagination result from the perception of 
greatness, or wonderfuloess, or beauty in objects. The plea- 
sure from greatness, with its final cause. Pleasure from no- 
velty or wonderfulness, with its final cause. Pleasure from 
beauty with its final cause. The connexion of beauty with 
trath and good, applied to the conduct of life. Invitation to 
the study of moral philosophy. The different degrees of 
beauty, in different species of objects: colour; shape { natu- 
ral concretes ; vegetables ; animals ; the mind. The sublime, 
the fair, the wonderful of the mind. The connexion of the 
imagination and the moral faculty. Conclusion. 



46 



THE 

PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. 

BOOK r. 



Epkt. apud Arrian. 11. Id. 

With what attiractiTe charina thiis goodly frame 
Of nature toaohecr the oonsentmgr heartiT 
Of mortal men ; and ,^hat the pleasing alans' 
Which heanteoQS inutatidn theneediBriyeff- 
To deck the poet's or the painter's toil ; 
My verse unfolds. Attend, ye gentle powers 
Of musical delight ! and while I sing 
Your gifis, your honours^ danee' around' miy strain. 
Thou, smiling queen of eyery tuneful hreast, 
Indulgent fancy ! from the fruitful hanks 
Of Aron, whence thy rosy fingers cull 
Fresh flowers and dews to sprinkle on the turf 
Where Shakspkabb lies, he present : and trith thee 
Let fiction come, upon her ragrant wings 
Wafting ten thousand' colours thnmgfa^ the air, 
Which, hy the glances- of her magic eye, 
She blends and shifts at-will, through countless forms, 

47 



48 THE PliEASURES 

Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre, 

Which rules the accents of the moving sphere. 

Wilt thou, eternal harmony ! descend, 

And join this festive train? for with thee comes 

The guide, the guardiaD of their lovely sports. 

Majestic truth ; and where truth deigns to come. 

Her sister liberty will not be far. 

Be present, all ye genii, who conduct 

The wandering footsteps of the youthful bard. 

New to your springs and shades : who touch his ear 

With finer sounds : who heighten to his eye 

The bloom of nature ; and before him turn 

The gayest, happiest attitude of things. 

Oft have the laws of each poetic strain 
The critic-veree employM ; yet ^till unsung 
Lay this prime subject, thoa^ importing most 
A poet's name : for fruitless is th' attempt. 
By dull obedience and by creeping toil 
Obscure to conquer the severe ascent 
Of high Parnassus. Nature's kindling breath 
Must fire the chosen genius ; nature's hand 
Must string his nerves, and imp his eagle-wings, 
Impatient of the painful steep, to soar 
High as the sununit; there to breathe at large 
Etheoeal air ; with bards and sages old. 
Immortal sons of praiAe. These flallering soeiiesy 
To this neglected labour court my song ; 
Yet not unconscious what a douJ^fiil task 
To fAiAt the finest fefttuxes of the aund, 



OF imA^oinatiow. 49 

And to DMWt SBbtle aad layateriout thing* 
Gire eolaaXf strength, and motba^ But the \me 
Of nature and the muaes bidsexplore. 
Through secret paths er«while untiod by man. 
The fair poetic region, to detect 
Untasted springs, to^ drink inspiring draughts^ 
And shade mj temples with unfading flawens 
Cnird from the laureate rale's profound reces^. 
Where nerer poet gain'd a wreath before. 

From heaven my strains begin; fcom heaven de» 
scends 
The flame of genius to the human breast, 
And love and beautgri and poetic joy 
And inspiralioA. £re the radiant son- 
Sprang from the east, or 'mid the vault of night 
The moon svipeaded her serener lamp ; 
Ere mountauB, woods, or streams adom'u^ the globe. 
Or wisdom ta«([r|it the sons of men her lore 
Then lived Ih? Almigbty One : then, deep- retired 
In his nnfatbom'd' essence, vtew'd tlte foKms» 
The forms etesnal of created tlmigs-; 
The radiant eisn, the moon's noctnrnai lamip. 
The mountains, woods, and sfxB»mfl^ the rolUag globe. 
And wisdooDi^ mien eetestial. From the first 
Of days on them his love dsfine he fix'd. 
His admiiMMiDn ; tfll intime eomfpleite, 
What he ado^red and>lov6fl, his vital smile ] . 
Unfolded inlet being. Henee the breath 
Of life in fomling each organic fiwne. 



1 



50 THE PLEASURES 

Hence the gpreen earth, and wild resounding waves ; 
Hence light and shade alternate ; warmth and cold ; 
And dear autumnal skies, and vernal showers, 
And all the fair variety of things. 

But not alike to every mortal eye 
Is this great scene unveil'd. For since the claims 
Of social life, to different labours urge 
The active powers of man ; with wise intent 
The hand of nature on peculiar minds 
Imprints a different biaSj and to each 
Decrees its province in the common toil. 
To some she taught the fabric of the sphere, 
The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars, 
The golden zones of Heaven; to some she gar« 
To weigh thte moment of eternal' thitigs. 
Of time, and space, and fate's unbroken ch^iK, 
And will's quick impulse : others by the hand 
She led o'er Vales and mountains, to explore 
What healing virtue swells the tender veins 
Of herbs and flowers ; or what the beams of morn 
Draw forth, distilling from the clefted rind 
In balmy tears. But some to higher hopes 
Were destined ; some within a finer mould 
She vnrought, and temper'd with a purer flamd.- 
To these the Site Omnipotent unfolds 
The world's harmonious volume, there to itoad 
The transcript of himsdf. On every part 
They trace the briglit impressions of his hand : 
In earth or air, the meadow's purple stores, 



OP m^AailTATlON. 51 

The moon's mild radianee, or the ▼irgin'e form 
Blooming with rosy smiles, they see portny*d 
That uncreated beaaty, which delights 
The mind supreme. They also feel her charms, 
EnamourM ; they partake th' eternal joy. 

For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd 
By fabling Nilns, to the quivering touch 
Of Titan's ray, with each repulsive string 
Consenting, sounded through the warbling air 
Unbidden strains ; e'en so did nature's hand 
To certain species of external things. 
Attune the finer organs of the mind : 
So the glad impulse of congenial powers. 
Or of sweet sounds, or fair-proportion'd form. 
The grace of motion, or the bloom of light. 
Thrills through imaginsUion's tender frame, 
From nerve to nerve : all naked and alive. 
They catch the spreading rays ; till now the soul 
At length discloses every tuneful spring, 
To that harmonious movement from without 
Responsive. Then the inexpressive strain 
Diffuses its enchantment : fancy dreams 
Of sacred fountains and Elysian groves. 
And vales of bliss : the intellectual power 
Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear. 
And smiles : the passions, gently soothed away. 
Sink to divine repose, and love and joy 
Alone are waking ; love and joy serene 
As airs that fan the summer. O ! attend, 



fl9 THB PX(KA«UR«8 

Whoe'er Oioii Act, whom these delighta «aA «oud^ 
Whose ceadid bosom the refiniiig love 
Of nature warms, O listen to my s<»ig ; 
And I will guide thee io hear fovomrite walks, 
And teach thy solitede her voioe lo hear, 
And point her loveliest features to thy view. 

Know then, whate'er of nature's pregnant stores, 
Whate'er of namic art's reflected forms 
With lore and admiration thus inflame 
The powers of fancy, her delighted sons 
To three illustrious orders have referr'd ; 
Three sister graces, whom the painter's hand. 
The ppet's tongue, confe88e8,*-the sublime. 
The wonderful, the fair. I see them dawn ! 
I see the radiant ^sions, where they rise, 
More lovely than when Lucifer displays 
His beaming fwehead through the gates of morn. 
To lead the train of Phoebus and the spring. 

Say, why n^s man so ^onin^itly raised 
Amid the vast creation ; why ord-^n'd 
Through life and death to dart his piercing eye, 
With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame ; 
But that th' Omnipotent might send him forth 
In sight of mortal and immortal powers. 
As on a boundless theatre, to run 
The great career of justice; to exalt 
His generous aim to all diviner deeds ; 
To chase each partial purpose from his breast, 



or IMAOINATION. 53 

And through the miBts of passion and of sense, 

And through the tossing tide of chance and pain, 

To hold his coarse unfaltering, while the voice 

Of truth and virtue, up the steep ascent 

Of nature, calls him to his high reward, 

Th' applauding smile of heaven 1 Else wherefore 

bnms 
In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope, 
That breathes from day to day sublimer things, 
And mocks possession % wherefore darts the mind. 
With such resistless ardour, to embrace 
Majestic foims ; impatient to be free 
Spuming the gross control of wilful might ; 
Proud of the strong contention of her toils ; 
Proud to be daring ? Who but rath^ turns 
To heaven's broad fire his unconstrained view. 
Than to the glimmering of a waxen flame ? 
Who that, from Alpine heights, his labouring eye 
Shoots round the wild horizon, to survey 
Nilus or Ganges rolling his bright wave 
Through mountains, plains, through empires black 

with shade. 
And continents of ^and ; will turn his gaze 
To mark the windings of a scanty rill 
That murmurs at his feet ? The high<-bom soul 
Disdains to rest her heaven*aspiring wing 
Beneath its native quarry. Tired of earth 
And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft 
Through fields of air ; pursues the flying storm ; 
Rides on the voUey'd lightning through Ike heaveiM; 

5* 



64 THE PLBASVRC8 

Or, yoked with -whirlwinds, and the noithem biaftt. 

Sweeps the long tract of day. Then high she soars 

The bine profound, and hoyering round the sun, 

Beholds him pouring the redundant stream 

Of light ; beholds his unrelenting swAy 

Bend the reluetant planets to absoWe 

The fated rounds of time. Thence far efiiised. 

She darts her swiftness up &e long career 

Of devious comets ; through its burning signs 

Exulting measures the perennial wheel 

Of nature, and looks back on all the stars, 

Whose blended light, as with a milky zone. 

Invests the orient. Now amazed she views 

Th' empyreal waste, where happy spirits hold. 

Beyond this concave heaven, their calm abode; 

And fields of radiance, whose unfading light 

Has travelled the profound six thousand years, 

Nor yet arrives in sight of mortal things. 

E'en on the bsirriers of the world untired 

She meditates ^' etefnai depth below ; 

Till half recoiling, down the headlong steep 

She plunges ; soon o'erwhelm'd and swallow'd up 

In that immense of being. There her hopes 

Rest at the fated goal. For from the birth 

Of mort^ mai^ the sovereign Maker said. 

That not in hsmble nor in brief delight. 

Not in the fading echoes of renown. 

Power's purple robes, nof {Measure's Howery la^ 

The soul litkwM find enjoymmi% : but from these 

TtfflRig ^disdainfnl to an equal good, 



OF IMAGINATION. 55 

Througrh aU th'asoefit of things enlarge her ▼iew. 
Till eyery boond at length should disappear, 
And infinite perfection close the scene* 

Call now to mind what high capacious powers 
Lie folded up in man ; how far beyond 
The piaise of iuortals, may th' eternal growth 
Of nature to perfection half divine 
Expand the blooming soul 1 What pity then 
Should sloth's unkindly fogs depress to earth 
Her tender blossom ; choke the streams of life. 
And blast her spring ! Far otherwise design'd 
Almighty Wisdom ; nature's happy cares 
Th' obedient heart far otherwise incline. 
Witness the sprightly joy when aught unknown 
Strikes the quick sense, and wakes each active power 
To brisker measures : witness the neglect 
Of all familiar prospects, though beheld 
With transport once ; the fond attentive gaze 
Of young astonishment; the. sober zeal 
Of age, commenting on prodigious things ; 
For such the bounteous providence of Heaven, 
In every breast implanting this desire 
Of objects new and strange, to urge us on 
With unremitted labour to pursue 
Those saeied stores that wait the ripening souly 
In truth's exhausAless bosom. What need woidB 
To paint its power ? For tibis the daring youth 
Bndts fMOL his weeping mc^er^B afiatiMis tfaa. 
In foreign dimet to rove : the pensiTB ssfo, 



1 



56 THE PLEASURES 

Heedless of sleep, or midnight's harmful damp, 
Hangs o'er the sickly taper ; and nntired 
The yirgin follows, with enchanted step, 
The mazes of some wild and wondrous tale, 
From morn to eye; unmindful of her form. 
Unmindful of the happy dress that stole 
The wishes of the youth, when every maid ' 
With enry pined. Hence, finally, by night 
The Tillage matron, round the blazing hearth, 
Suspends the infant audience with her tales. 
Breathing astonishment ! of witching rhymes. 
And evil spirits ; of the death-bed call ; 
Of him who robb'd the widow, and devour'd 
The orphan's portion ; of unquiet souls 
Risen from the grave to ease the heavy guilt 
Of deeds in life conceal'd ; of shapes that walk 
At dead of night, and clank their chains, and wave 
The torch of hell around the murderer's bed. 
At every solemn pause the crowd recoil. 
Gazing each other speechless, and congeal'd 
With shivering sighs ; till eager for th' event, 
Around the beldame all erect they hang, 
Each trembling heart with grateful terrors quell'd. 

But lo ! disclosed in all her smiling pomp, 
Where beauty onward moving claims the veree 
Her ofaaims inspire : the fieely-flowing verse 
In thy immortal praise, O form divine. 
Smooths her mellifluent stream. Thee, beauty, thee» 
The regal dome, and thy enlivening ray 



or IMAGINATION. ft7 

The mossy roofs adore : thou, better min ! 

For ever heaviest on th' enchaated heaort 

LoYo, and hannosious wonder, and delight 

Poetic. Brightest piogeay o^ hearea i 

How shall I tiaee thy featisres ? wliere seleet 

The roseate hues to emulate thy bloom ? 

Haste then, my song, through nature's wide esqiaiise. 

Haste then, and gather all her comeliest wealth, 

Whate'er brigfat spoils the florid earth contains, 

Whate'er the waters, or the liquid air, 

To deck thy lovely labour. Wilt thou fly 

With laughing autumn to th' Atlantic isles. 

And range with him th' Hesperian field, and see 

Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove, 

The branches shoot with gold ; where'^ his step 

Marks the glad soil, the tender clusters grow 

With purple ripeness, and invest each hill 

As with the blushes of an evening sky 1 

Or wilt thou rather stoop thy vagrant plume, 

Where gliding through his daughter's hcMiouT'd 

shades. 
The smooth Peneus from his glassy flood 
Reflects purpureal Tempe's pleasant scene? 
Fair Tempe ! haunt beloved of sylvan powen. 
Of nymphs and fauns ; where in the golden age 
They play'd in secret on the shady brink 
With ancient Pan ; while round their choral st^s 
Young hours and genial gales with constant hand 
Shower'd blossoms, odours, shower'd ambrosial dews. 
And spring's Elysian bloom. Her flowery store 



58 THE PLBASURBS 

To thee nor Tempe shaH lefuse ; nor watch 

Of winged hydra guard Hesperian frgits 

From thy free spoil. O bear th^i, unreproved. 

Thy smiling treasures to the green recess 

Where young Dione stays. With sweetest airs 

Entice her forth to lend her angel form 

For beauty's hononrM image. Hither turn 

Thy graceful footsteps ; hither, gentle maid, 

Inclin^ thy poiisfa'd forehead z let thine .eyes 

Effuse the mildness of their azure dawn $ 

And may the fanning breezes waft aside 

Thy radiant locks : disclosing, as it bends 

With airy softness from the marble neck. 

The cheek fair blooming, and the rosy lip, 

Whe^ winning smiles, and pleasures sweet as love. 

With sanctity and wisdom tempering, blend 

Their soft allurement. Then the pleasing force 

Of nature, and her kind parental care. 

Worthier I'd sing: then all th' enamoured youth, 

With each admiring irirgin, to my lyre 

Should throng attentive, while I point on high 

Where beauty's liying image, like the mom 

That wakes in zephyr's arms the blushing May 

Moves onward ; or as Venus, when she stood 

Effulgent on the pearly ear, and smiled. 

Fresh from the deep, and conscious of her form, 

To see the Tritons tune their voeal shells. 

And each cerulean sister of the floo^ 

With loud acclaim attend her o'er the waves. 

To seek the Idalian bower. Ye smiling band 



OF IMAOINATIOK. 68 

Of youths and vugins, who through all thd maae 
Of young desire with rival steps pursue 
This charm of beauty ; if the pleasing toil * 
Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn 
Your favourable ear, and trust my words. 
I do not mean to wake the gloomy fmrm 
Of superstition c^ess'd in wisdom's garb,* 
To damp your tender hopes ; I do not mean 
To bid the jeadoiss thunderer fire the heavens, • 
Or shapes infernal rend the groaning earth, 
To fright you from your joys : my cheerful seng; 
With better omens calls you to the field. 
Pleased with your generous ardour in the chase. 
And- wftrmlike you. Then tell me, for ye know, 
Does beauty' ever deign* to' dwell whi^re health 
And active use ave strangers ? Is her charm* 
Conless'd in aught, whose most peculiar ends 
Are lame and fruitless 1 Or did nature mean 
This pleasing call the herald of a lie ; 
To hide the shamd of discord and disease^ 
And catch with -fair hypocrisy the heart' 
Of idle laith 1 O no : With better oares^ 
Th' indulgent mother, conscious how infinh' 
Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill. 
By this illustrious image, in each kind 
Still most illustrious where the object holds 
Its native powers moat perfect, she by this 
Illumes the headstrong impulse of desir6. 
And sanctifies^his choice. The generous gkbe 
Whose bosom smiles' with viBtrdure,' the ckta ti«el 



1 



60 THB PLEASURES 

Of Streams delicious to the thirsty soul, 

The bloom of nectarM fruitage ripe to sense, 

And every 6hann of animated things. 

Are only pledges of a state sincere, 

Th' integrity and order of their frame, 

When all is well within, and every end 

Accomplish'd. Thus was beauty sent from heayen. 

The lovely ministress of truth ami good 

In this dark world : for truth and good are one, 

And beauty dwells in them, and they in her. 

With like participation. Wherefore, then, 

O sons of earth ! would ye dissolve the tie ? 

O wherefore, with a rash, impetuous aim, 

Seek ye those flowery joys with which the hand 

Of lavish fancy paints each flattering scene 

Where beauty seems to dwell, nor once mqaire 

Where is the sanction of eternal truth. 

Or where the seal of undeceitful good. 

To save your search from folly ! Wanting these, 

Lo ! beauty withers in your void embrace, 

And with the glittering of an idiot's toy 

Did fancy mock your vows. Nor let Uie gleam 

Of youthful hope, that shines upon your hearts. 

Be chillM or clouded at this awful task. 

To learn the lore of undeceitful good, 

And truth eternal. Though the poisonous charms 

Of baleful superstition guide the feet 

Of servile numbers through a dreary way 

To their abode, through deserts, thorns, and mire ; 

And leiive the wretched pilgrim all foriorn 



OF IMAGINATION. 61 

To mase at last, amid the ghostly gloom 

Of gxaves, and hoary vaults, and cloister'd cells ; 

To walk with spectres through the midnight shade, 

And to the screaming owl's accursed song 

Attune the dreadful workings of his heart; 

Yet be not ye dismay'd. A gentler star 

Your lovely search illumines. From the grove 

Where wisdom talk'd with her Athenian sons. 

Could my ambitious hand entwine a wreath 

Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay. 

Then should my powerful verse at once dispel 

Those monkish horrors : then in light divine 

Disclose th' Elysian prospect, where the steps 

Of those whom nature charms, through blooming 

walks. 
Through fragrant mountains and poetic streams, 
Amid the train of sages, heroes, bards, 
Led by their winged genius and the choir 
Of laurell'd science, and harmonious art, 
Proceed, exulting, to th' eternal shrine, 
Where truth conspicuous with her sister twins. 
The undivided partners of her sway. 
With good and beauty reigns. O let not us, 
Lull'd by luxurious pleasure's languid strain. 
Or crouching to the frowns of bigot rage, 
O let us not a moment pause to join 
That godlike band. And if the gracious Power 
Who first awakeuM my untutorM song, . ^ 

Will to my invocation breathe anew 
The tanefiil spirit; then through all our paths, 

6 



63. THE PliBASURE.S 

Ne^er shall th.e sonad of this devoted, lyre 

Be wanting ;. whether on the rosy mead*^ 

When summer smiles, to warm the melting heart 

Of luxury's allurement ; whether firm 

Against the torrent and the stuhbom hill 

To urge bold yirtub's unremitted nenrei 

And wake the strong divinity of soul 

That conquers, chance and fate ;, or wl^ether strucl^. 

For sounds of tjriun^ph, to proclaim her toils. 

Upon the lofty summit, round her brow 

To twine the wreath of incorniptive praise ; 

To trace h^lf hallowM light through fhtuxe worldti, 

And bless Heaven's image in the hear^t of map* 

Thus with a fkithM aim have we presumed, 
Adventurous, to delineate nature's form ; 
Whether in vast, majestic pomp array'd, 
Or drest for pleasing wonder, or serene. 
In beauty's rosy smile. I.t now remains. 
Through various being's fai]:-proportion'(i, scale. 
To trace the rising lustre pC he^ charms,. 
From their first twilight, shining forth at length 
To full meridian splendour. Of degree 
The least and, lowliest, in th' effusive warmth. 
Of colours mingling with a randoip blaze, 
]>oth beauty dwell. Then higher in Uie line 
And variation of determined, shape. 
Where truth's eternal measures mark the bound' 
Of circle, cube, or sphere. The third' ascent. 
Unites this, varied symmetry o^part8 



or IMAaiNATION. 63 

With colour's bland allurement ; as the pearl 

Shines in the concave of its azure l>ed. 

And painted shells indent their speckled wreath. 

Then more aittractiye rise the 'bloomingr ibrmS, 

Through wHicli the breath of nature has infused 

Her genial power to draw with pregnant teins 

Nutritious moisture from the l)ounteoQd ^afth, 

In fruit and seed prolific : thus the flowers 

Their purple honours with the spring resume ; 

And thus the stately tree with autumn bends 

With blushing treasures. But more lovely still 

Is nature's charm, where to the full consent 

Of complicated members to the bloom 

Of colour, and the vital change of growth. 

Life's holy flame and piercing sense are given. 

And active motion speaks the temper'd soul : 

So moves thel>ird of Juno; so the steed 

With rival a^dout^ea^s Che dusty plain, 

And faithful dogs, with eager airs of joy. 

Salute their fellows. Thus doth beauty dwell 

Ttiere most conspicuous, e'en in outward shape. 

Where da'iirns the high expression of a mind : 

By stepis conducting our enraptured search 

To that eternal origin, Hirhose pcrweT, 

Through aQ th' unbounded symmetry of things. 

Like rays efiulging from the parent sun. 

This endless mixture of her charms diffiised. 

Mind, mind alone, (bear witness, earth and heaven !) 

The living fountains in itself contains 

Of beauteous and sublime: here, hand in hand. 



64 THEPLEA6URES 

Sit paramount the graces ; here enthroned, 

Celestial Venus^ with divinest airs, 

Invites the soul to never-fading joy. 

Look then abroad through nature, to the range 

Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres. 

Wheeling unshaken through thB void immense ; 

And speak, O man ! does this capacious scene 

With half that kindling majesty dilate 

The strong conception, as when Brutus rose 

Refulgent from the stroke of Ceesar's fate, 

Amid the crowd of patriots ; and his arm 

Aloft extending, like eternal Jove, 

When guilt brings down the thunder, callM aloud 

On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel, 

And bade the father of his country hail 1 

For lo ! the tyrant prostrate- on the dust, 

And Rome again is free ! — is aught so fair 

In all the dewy landscapes of the spring, 

In the bright eye of Hesper or the morn, 

In nature's fairest forms^ is aught so fair 

As virtuous friendship 1 as the candid blush 

Of him who strives with fortune to be just ? 

The graceful tear that streams for others' woes ? 

Or the mild majesty of private life, ^ 

Where peace with ever-blooming olive crowns 

The gate ; where honour's liberal hands effuse 

Unenvied treasures, and the snowy wings 

Of innocence and love protect the scene 1 

Once more search, undismay'd, the dark profound 

Whrere nature works in secret ; view the beds 



or IMAOINATION. 65 

Of mineral treasure, and th' eternal yault 
Tliat boands the hoary ocean ; trace the forms 
Of atoms moving with incessant change 
Their elemental round ; behold the seeds 
Of being, and the energy of life. 
Kindling the mass with eyer-active flame . 
Then to the secrets of the working mind 
Attentiye turn ; from dim oblivion call 
Her fleet, ideal band ; and bid them, go ! 
Break through time's barrier, and overtake the honr 
That saw the heavens created : then declare 
If aught were found in those external scenes 
To move thy wonder now. For what are all 
The forms which brute, unconscious matter wears. 
Greatness of bulk, or symmetry of parts? 
Not reachihg to the heart, soon feeble grows 
The snperficial impulse; dull their charms 
And satiate soon, and pall the languid eye 
Noi«o the moral species, nor the powers 
Of g^niias aad design ; th' ambitious mind 
Thtfte sees herself: 1[)y these congenial forms 
Tonch'd and avraken'd, with intenser act 
She bends each nerve, and meditates well pleased 
Her features in the mirror. For of all 
Th' inhabitants of earth, to man alone 
Creatine Wisdom gave to lift his eye 
To tnith''s eternal measures ; thence to frame 
The sacred laws of action and of vpll^ 
Disoerning justice from ttnequal deeds, 

6* 



66 THE PLEASURES 

And temperance from folly. But beyond 
This energy of truth, whose dictates bind 
Assenting reason, the benignant sire, 
To deck the honourM paths of just and good, 
Has added bright imagination's rays : 
Where virtue, rising from the awful depth 
Of truth's mysterious bosom, doth forsake 
The unadornM condition of her birth ; 
And, dressM by fancy in ten thousand hues. 
Assumes a various feature, to attract, 
With charms responsive to each gazer's eye, 
The hearts of men. Amid his rural walk, 
Th' ingenuous youth, whom solitude inspires 
With purest wishes, from the pensive shade 
Beholds her moving, like a virgin-muse 
That wakes her lyre to some indulgent theme 
Of harmony and wonder : while among 
The herd of servile minds her strenuous form 
Indignant flashes on the patriot's eye. 
And through the rolls of memory appeals 
To ancient honour, or, in act serene. 
Yet watchful, raises the majestic sword 
Of public power, from dark ambition's reach 
To guard the sacred volume of the laws. 

Genius of ancient Greece ! whose faithful stept 
Well pleased I follow through the sacred paths 
Of nature and of science ; nurse divine* 
Of all heroic deeds and fair desires ! 



OF IMAGINATION. 67 

\ let the breath of thy extended praise 
Inspire my kindling bosom to the height 

Of this untempted theme. Nor be my thoughts 
Presumptuous counted, if amid the calm 
That soothes this vernal evening into smiles, 

1 steal impatient from the sordid haunts 
Of strife and low ambition, to attend 
Thy sacred presence in the sylvan shade, 
By their malignant footsteps ne'er profaned. 
Descend, propitious ! to my favour'd eye ; 
Such in thy mein, thy warm, exalted air, 

As when the Persian tyrant, foil'd and stung 

With shame and desperation, gnash'd his teeth 

To Bee thee rend the pageants of his throne ; 

And at the lightning of thy lifted spear 

CrouchM like a slave. Bring all thy martial spoihif 

Thy palms, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs, 

Thy smiling band of arts, thy godlike sires 

Of civil wisdom, thy heroic youth 

Warm from the schools of glory. Guide my way 

Through fair Lyceum's walk, the green retreat 

Of Academus, and the thymy vale. 

Where, oft enchanted with Socratic sounds, 

Ilissus pure devolved his tuneful stream 

In gentler murmurd. FftHtfi the blooming store 

Of these auspicious fields, *may I unblamed 

Transplant some living blossoms to adorn 

My native clime : while far above the flight 

Of fancy's plume aspiring, I unlock 



PLBABUREd 01F I M AOI N JLTI OM. 

Tile springs o^andienl wisdom ! while 1 join 

Thy name, thrice-honour'd ! with th' immortal pi'aisl^ 

Of natdre, whUe to my compatriot youth 

I point the high example of thy sons, 

And tone to Attic themes the British lyre. 



THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. 

BOOK n. 



ARGUMENT. 



The sepantion of the works of imagination from philoso- 
phy, the cause of their abuse among the modems. Prospect 
of their reunion under the influence of public liberty. Enu- 
meration of accidental pleasures, which increase the effect 
of objects delightful to the imagination. The pleasures of 
sense. Particular circumstances of the mind. Discovery 
of truth. Perception of contrivance and design. Emotion 
of the passions. All the natural passions partake of a pleas- 
ing sensation ; with the final cause of this constitution illus- 
trated by an allegorical vision, and exemplified In sozrow^ 
pity, tenor, and indignation. 



69 



THE 

PXOSASURES OF IMAGINATION. 

900K n. 



'Whbn shall the laurel and the vocal string 
Resume their honours ?. When shall we hehold 
The tuneful tongue^ the Frometheao hand. 
Aspire to ancienjt praise t Alss ! how faint. 
How slow, the dawn qf beauty apd of truth 
Breaks the reluctant shades o^QfojtMc nigh,t,. 
Which yet. involve the nationsl XiOng they groanM. 
Beneath the ihriea of rapacious force ; 
Oft as the gloomy north, with iron swarms 
Tempestuous pouring from her frozen caves, 
Blasted th' Italian shore, and swept th.^ works, 
Of liberty and wisdom down the gi;ilf 
Of allidevonring night. As long, iuimuted 
in noontide darkness by the glin^ering lamp, 
I^h muse and each fair science pined away 
The 8ordi4 hours : while f»ul, baxbarian hands 
Their mysteries profaned, unstrung the iyre„ 
And chain'd the soaring pinion down to earth. 
At last «iie Muses rose, and spumM their bounds, 

71 



72 THE PLEASURES 

And, wildly warbling, scatter'd, as they flew. 

Their blooming wreaths from fair Yalclusa's bowers 

To Arno's myrtle border, and the shore 

Of soft Parthenope. But still the rage 

Of dire ftmbition and gigantic power. 

From pablic aims and from the busy walk 

Of civil commerce, drove the bolder train 

Of penetrating science to the cells. 

Where studious ease consumes the silent hour 

In shadowy searches and unfruitful care. 

Thus from their guardians torn, the tender arts . 

Of mimic fancy, and harmonious joy, 

To priestly domination and the lust 

Of lawless courts, their amiable toil 

For three inglorious ages have resigned. 

In vain reluctant : and Torquato's tongue 

"Was tuned for slavish paeans at the throne 

Of tinsel pomp : and Raphael's magic hand 

Efinsed its fair creation to enchant 

The fond adoring herd in Latian fanes 

To blind belief; while on their prostrate ueoks 

The sable tyrant plants his heel secure. 

But noWy behold ! the radiant era dawns, 

When freedom's ample fabric, fixM at length 

For endless years on Albion's happy shore 

In full proportion, once more shall extend 

To all the kindred powers of social bliss, 

A common mansion, a parei^ti|l roof. 

There shall the virUies, theire. jshall wisdom's -toynr t^ 

Their loag-lost friends rejoining, as of old^ 



or IMAGINATION. 73 

Embrace the smiling family of arur, 
The muses and the grsoBS. Then no more 
Shall Yice, distnustingr their delioions grifts 
To aims ahfaon'd, with high distaste and seom 
Tarn from their cl^arms the philosophic eycf 
The patriot bosom ; then no ittoie the piaths 
Of public eare 0/ btolteetaal Un^ 
Alone by footsteps hauglEty and severe 
In gloomy state be trod : th' haxmoidQVS muse,- 
And her persoasire siateis* ikea shall plant 
Their sheltering laurels o'er the black ascent,- 
And scatter flowers along the ragged way ^ 
Arm'd with the lyre, already have we dared 
To pierce divine philosophy's retreats, 
And teach the muse her lore ; alieady strops 
Their long-divided honours to unitev 
While tempering this deep argument we sang 
Of truth afkd beauty. Now the same glad task* 
Impends ; now urging on? ambftlous foil. 
We hasten to recount the i^iious springs 
Of adventitious pleasure which adjoin 
Their grateful influence to the prime effect 
Of objects grand or heaateous^ and enlarge 
The complicated joy. The sweets of srase, 
Do they not oft with kind accession flow, 
*To raise harmonious fant^'s native charm ? 
So while we taste the fragrance of the rose. 
Glows not her bluslyhe fiurer ? While we view 
Amid,4)^e noontide walk a limpid rill 
Gush through the trickling herbagBi to the tWrst 



74 THE PLEASURES 

Of sttinmer yielding the delicious draught 
Of cool refreshment ; o'er the mossy brink 
Shines not the surface clearer, and the waves 
With sweeter music murmur as they flow ? 

Nor this alOBcr the various lot of life 
Oft from external circumstance assumes 
A moment's disposition to rejoice 
In those delights which at a different hour 
Would pass unheeded. Fair the face of spring, 
When rural songs and odours wake the mom. 
To eyery eye r but how much more to his 
Round whom the bed of sickness long diffused 
Its melancholy gloom ! how doubly fkir, 
When first with freirti-bom vigour, he inhales 
The balmy breezcj and feels the blessed' 9un> 
Warm at his bosom, from.tiie sf^rings of life 
Chasing^ppressive damps and' languid pain ! 

Or shall I mention where celestlaT firutlv 
Her awful light discloses, to bestow 
A more majestic pomp on beauty's frame ? 
For man loves knowledge, and the beams of truth 
More welcome touch his understanding's eye. 
Than all the blandishments of sound his ear. 
Than all of taste his tongue. Nor ever yet 
The melting rainbow's vernal-tinctured hues 
To me have shone so pleasing, as yhen first 
The hand of science pointed out the path 
In which the sunbeams gleaming from the west 



OF IMAGINi^TION. 75 

Fall on the watery cloud, whose darksome veil 

Involves the orient ; and that trickling shower 

Piercing through every crystalline convex 

Of clustering dew-drops to their flight opposed. 

Recoil at length where concave all behind 

Th' internal surface on each glassy orb 

Repels their forward passage into. air; 

That thence direct they seek the radiant goal 

From which their coufse began ; and, as they strike 

In different lines the gazer's obvious eye, 

Assume a different lustre, through the brede 

Of colours changing from the splendid rose 

To the pale violet's dejected hue. 

Or shall we touch that kind access of joy, 
That springs to each fair object, w^ile we trace 
Through all its fabric, wisdom'^s artfol aim 
Disposing every part, and gaining stiH 
By means proportion'd her benignant end % 
Speak, ye, the pare delight, whose favour'd steps 
The lamp of science, through the jealous maze 
Of nature guides, when haply you reveal 
Her secret honours : whether in the sky. 
The beauteous laws of light, the central powers 
That wheel the pensile planets round the year; 
Whether in wonders of the rolling deep, 
Or the rich fraits of all^ustaining earth. 
Or fine adjusted springs of life and sense, 
Ye scan the counsels of their Author's hand^ 



76 THB PLKA8URKS 

What, when to raise the meditated seene* 
The flame of passion through the stmggiing soul 
Deep-kindled, shows across that sudden blaze 
The object of \t9 raptore, yast of size, 
With fiercer colours and a night of shade 1 
What 1 like a storm from their capacious bed 
The sounding seas overwhelming, when the might 
Of these eruptions, working from the depth 
Of man's strong apprehension, shakes his frame 
fiyen to the base $ from evefjr naked sense 
Of pain or pleasure dissipating all 
Opinion's feeble coTerings, and the yeil 
Spun from the cobweb fashion of the times 
To hide the feeliag heart ? Then nature speaks 
Her genuine language, and the words of men. 
Big with the yery motion of their souls. 
Declare with what acsamulated force 
Th' impetuous nerye of passion urges on 
The nati^^e weight and energy of thi^gSr 

Yet more ; her hdnours where nor beauty claims 
Nor shows of good the thirsty sense allure, 
From passion's power alone our nature holds 
Essential pleasure. Passion's fierce illapse 
Souses the mind's whole fabric; with supplies 
Of daily impislse keeps th' elastip powers 
Intensely poised, and polishes anew 
By that coUision all the fine machine : ^ 
W9e nitt would ri«^> wid foulness, by degrees 



OF IMAGINATION. 77 

Encumbering* choke at last what Hearen deaignM 

For ceaseless motion and a round of toil. 

— But say, does every passion thus to man 

Adminbter delight I That name indeed 

Becomes the rosy breath of love ; becomas 

The radiant smiles of joy, th* applauding hand 

Of admiration: but the bitter shower 

That sorrow sheds upon a brother^s grave, 

But the dumb palsy of nocturnal fear^ 

Or those consuming 6res that gnaw the heart 

Of panting indignation, find we there 

To move delight 1 — ^Then listen while my tongue 

Th' unaltered will of Heaven with faithful awe 

Reveals ; what old Harmodius wont to teach 

My early age ; Harmodius, who had weigh'd 

Within his learned mind whate'er the schools 

Of wisdom, or thy lonely- whispering vojce^ 

O faithful nature I dictate of the laws 

Which govern and support this mighty frame 

Of universal being. Oft the hours 

From morn to eve have stolen unmark'd away. 

While mute attention hung upon his lips, 

As thus the sage his awful tale begaOf 

(( 'Twas in the windings of an ancient wood, 
When spotless youth with solitude resigns 
To sweet philosophy the studious day. 
What time pale autumn shades the silent eve. 
Musing I roved. Of good and evil much. 
And much of mortal man, my thoughts revolved ; 

7* 



7S THE PLEASURES 

When starting full on fancy^s gushing eye 

The mournful image of Parihenia's fat6» 

That hour, O long belored and long deplored ! 

When blooming youth, nor gentlest wisdom's arts. 

Nor Hymen's honours gather'd for thy brow, 

Nor all thy loTer's, all thy father's tears, 

Ayail'd to snatch thee from the cruel grare : 

Thy agonizing looks, ^y last farewell, 

Strock to the inmost feeling of my soul 

As with the hand of death. At once the shade 

Mors horrid nodded o'er me, and the winds 

With hoarser murmuring shook the branches. Dark 

As midnight storms, the soene of human things 

^ppear*d before me : deserts, burning sands. 

Where the parch'd adder dies; the frozen south. 

And des<dation blasting all the west 

With rapine and with murder: tyrant power 

Here sits enthroned with blood ; the baleful charms 

Of superstition there infect the skies, 

And turn the sun to horror. Gracious Hearen ! 

What is the life of man 1 Or cannot these, . 

Not these portents fhy awful will suffice 1 

That, propagated thus beyond their scope. 

They rise to act their cruelties anew 

In my afflicted bosom, thus decreed 

The aniversal sensitiTo of pain. 

The wretched heir of evils not its own ! 

^ Thus I impatient ; when at once effused, 
A flashing torrent of celestial day 



OF IMAGINATION. 79 

Barst throagh ike «hadowy Yoid. With slow de«eent 

A purple cloud came floating through the sky. 

And, poised at length within the circling trees, 

Hung obrious to my view ; till opening wide 

Its lucid orb, a more than human form 

Emerging lean'd majestic o'er my head, 

And instant thunder shook the conscious groTe. 

Then melted into air the liquid cloud. 

Then all the shining vision stood reveal'd. 

A wreath of psdm his ample forehead bound, 

And o'er his shoulder, mantling to his knee, 

Flow'd the transparent robe, around his waist 

Collected with a radiant zone of gold 

Ethereal : there in mystic signs engraved, # 

I read his office high, dtid sacred name. 

Genius of human kind. Appal I'd, I gazed 

The godlike presence ; for athwart his brow 

Displeasure, temper'd with a mild concern, 

Look'd down reluctant on me, and his words 

Like distant thunders broke the murmuring air. 

** * Vain are thy thoughts, O child of mortal birth ! 
And impotent thy tongue. Is thy short span 
Capacious of this universal frame t 
Thy wisdom all-sufficient ? Thou, alas ! 
Dost thou aspire to judge between the Lord 
Of nature and his works ? to lift thy voice 
Against the sovereign order he decreed, 
All good and lovely 1 to blaspheme the bands 
Of tenderness innate, and social love. 



80 THE PLCASURfiS 

Holiest of things ! by which the general orb 
Of being, as by adamantine links, 
Was drawn to perfect union, and siistainM 
From everlasting 1 Hast thou felt the pangs 
Of softening sorrow, of indignant zeal, 
So grievous to the soul, as thence to wish 
The ties of nature broken from thy frame ; 
That so thy selfish, unrelenting heart 
Might cease to mourn its lot, no longer then 
The wretched heir of evils not its ownl 
O fair benevolence of generous minds ! 

man by nature formM for all mankind V 

^ He spoke ; abash'd and silent I remainM, 
As conscious of my tongue^s offence, and awed 
Before his presence, though my secret soul 
Disdain'd the imputation. On the ground 

1 fix'd my eyes ; till from his airy couch 

He stoop'd sublime, and touching with his hand 
My dazzling forehead, ' Raise thy sight,' he cried, 
* And let thy sense convince thy erring tongue.' 

" I look'd, and lo ! the former scene was changed ; 
For verdant alleys and surrounding trees, 
A solitary prospect, wide and wild, 
Rush'd on my senses. 'Twas a horrid pile 
Of hills, with many a shaggy forest mix'd, 
With many a sable cliff and glittering stream. 
Aloft, recumbent o'er the hanging ridge, 
The brown woods waved ; while ever-lrickliog spriagp 



or iMA0INATIOK. 81 

WashM from the naked roots of oak and pine 

The crumbling soil ; and still at every fall 

Down the steep windings of the channePd rock, 

Remurmuring rush'd the congregated floods 

With hoarser inundation ; till at last . 

They reachM a grassy plain, which from the skirts 

Of that high desert spfead her verdant lap. 

And drank the gushing moisture, where, confine 

In one smooth current, o'er the lilied vale 

Clearer than glass it flow'd. Autumnal spoils,* 

Luxuriant spreading to the rays of morn, 

Blush'd o'er the cliffs, whose half-encircling mound 

As in a sylvan theatre enclosed 

That flowery level. On the river's brink ' • 

I spied a fair pavilion, which diffused 

Its floating umbrage 'mid the silver shade 

Of osiers. Now the western sun reveal'd 

Between two jjparting eliffs his golden orb. 

And pour'd across the shadow of the hills, 

On rocks and floods, a yellow stream of light 

That cheer'd |be sol^^n scene. My listening powers 

Were awed, and every thought in silence hung. 

And wondering expectation. Then the voice 

Of that celestial power, the mystic show 

Declaring, thus my deep attention call'd. 

*' * Inhabitants of earth, to whom is given 
The gracious ways of Providence to learn. 
Receive my sayings with a steadfast ear — 
Know then, the sovereign Spirit of the world. 



82 THE PLEASURES 

Though, self-collected from eternal time, 

Within his own deep essence he beheld 

The bounds of true felicity complete ; 

Yet by immense benignity inclined 

To spread aro.und him that primeval joy 

Which filPd himself, he raised his plastic arm. 

And sounded through the hollow depth of space 

The strong, creative mandate. Straight arose 

These heavenly orbs, the glad abodes of life 

Effusive kindled by his breath divine 

Through endless forms of being. Each inhaled 

From him its portion of the vital flame. 

In measure such, that, from the wide complex 

Of coexistent orders, one might rise. 

One order, all-involving and entire. 

He too, beholding In the sacred light 

Of his essential reason, all the shapes 

Of swift contingence, all successive ties 

Of action propagated through the sum 

Of possible existence, he at ojice, 

Down the long series of eventful time. 

So fixM the dates of being, so disposed 

To every living soul of every kind 

The field of motion and the hour of rest. 

That all conspired to his supreme design, 

To universal good : with full accord 

Answering the mighty model he had chosen, 

The best and fairest of unnumber'd worlds. 

That lay from everlasting in the store 

Of his divine conceptions. Nor content, 



OF IMAGINATION. 83 

By one exertion of creative power 

His goodness to rereal*; l^rongh every age, 

Throagh every moment up the tract of time, 

His parent hand, with ever-new increase 

Of happiness and virtue, has aHornM 

The vast harmonious frame r his parent hand^ 

From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore. 

To men, to angels, to celestial minds, 

For ever lead's the generations on 

To higher scenes of Befng'; while, supplied 

From day to day^ with his enlivening breath ,s 

Inferior orders in succession rise 

To fill the void below. As flame ascends. 

As bodies to their proper centre move. 

As the poised ocean to th' attracting moon 

Obedient swells, and eve^ headlong stream 

Devolves its winding waters to the main ; 

So all things which have life aspire to God^ 

The sun' ofbeihg, boundless, unimpair'd^ 

Centre of souls ! Nor does the faithful voice 

Of nature cease to prompt their eager steps 

Arigiit: nor is the care of Heaven withheld 

From, granting. to. the task proportionM aid; 

That m their stations all may persevere 

To climb tV ascent of being, and approach 

Ft>r ever nearer to l^e life divine. 

" • That rocky piFe thou seest, that verdant lawn, 
Fresh^-water'd from the mountains. Let the scene 
Paint in thy fancy the primeval seat 



84 THE PLEASURES 

Of man, and where the will supreme ordainM 

His mansion, that pavilion fair diffused 

Along the shady brink ; in this recess 

To wear th' appointed season of his youth, 

Till riper hours should open to his toil 

The high communion of superior minds, 

Of consecrated heroes and of gods. 

Nor did the Sire Omnipotent forget 

His tender bloom to cherish ; nor withheld 

Celestial footsteps from his green abode. 

Oft from the radiant honours of his throne. 

He sent whom most he loved, the sovereign fair, 

The effluence of his glory, whom he placed 

Before his eyes for ever* to behold ; 

The goddess from whose inspiration flows 

The toil of patriots, the delight of friends ; - 

Without whose work divine, in heaven or earth. 

Naught lovely, naught propitious comes to pass, 

Nor hope, nor praise, nor honour. Her the Sire 

Gave it in charge to rear the blooming mind, 

The folded powers to open, to direct 

The growth luxuriant of his young desires. 

And from the laws of this majestic world 

To teach him what was good. As thus the nymph 

Her daily care attended, by her side 

With constant steps her gay companion stayM, 

The fair Euphrosyne, the gentle queen 

Of smiles, and graceful gladnei^s, and delights 

That cheer alike the hearts of mortal meu 

And powers immortal. See the shining pair ! 



ar IMAGINATION. 85 

Behold, where from his dwelling now ditoloied, 
They quit their youthful charge and seek the aides.' 

** I look'd, and on the flowery turf there stood, 
Between two radiant R>rm8, a smiling youth. 
Whose tender cheeks display'd the reraal flower 
Of beauty ;- sweetest innocence illumed 
His bashful eyes, and on his polish'd brow 
Sate young simplicity* With fond regard 
He yiew'd th' associates, as their steps they mored;* 
The younfer chief his ardent eyes detain'd^ 
With mild regret invoking her return. 
Bright as the star of evening she appear'd 
Amid the dusky scene. Eternal youth 
O'er all her form its glowing. honours b^reath'd ; 
And smiles eternal from her candid eyes 
Flow'd, like ^e dewy lustre of the'ra<nrn' 
Effusive trembling on the placid waves. 
The spring of heaven had shed its blushing SfkoilS' 
To bind her sable tresses : full diffused 
Her yellow mantle floated in the breeze ; 
And in her hand she waved a living branch 
Rich with immortal fruits, of power to calm 
The wrathful heart, and from, the brightening eyes 
To chase the cloud of sadness. More sitbliiiie 
The heavenly partner moved. The prime of age 
Composed her steps. The preseoee of a god, 
High on the circle of her brow enthroned. 
From each majestic motion darted awe, 
Devoted awe! till,.cherishM by h&t lodts 

8 



86 THE PLEASURES 

BeneTolent and meet, confiding love 

To filial rapture softenM all the souL 

Free in her graceful hand she poised the sword 

Of chaste dominion. An heroic crown 

Displayed the old simplicity of pomp 

Around her honoured head. A matron's robe, 

White as the sunshine streams through vernal clouds, 

Her stately form invested. Hand in hand 

Th' immortal pair Ibrsook th^ enamePd gieen, 

Ascending slowly. Rays of limpid light 

Gleam'd round their path; celestial sounds were 

heard, 
And through the fragrant air ethereal dews 
Distill'd around them ; till at once the clouds 
Disparting wide in midway sky withdrew 
Their airy veil, and left a bright expanse 
Of empyrean flame, where, spent and drown'd, 
AMcted vision plunged in vain to scan 
What object it involved. My feeble eyes 
Endured not. Bending" down to earth, I stood^ 
With dumb attention* Soon- a female voice, 
As watery mnrmurs sweet, or warbling shades. 
With sacred hnFOcation thus began; 

*\^ Father of gods and mortals I whose right arm 
With rehis eternal guides the moving heavens. 
Bend thy propitious ear. Behold well pleased 
I seek to finish thy divine decree. 
With frequent steps I visit yonder seat 
Of man, thy offspring; from the tender seeds 



OW IMAGINATION. 87 

Of jastioe and of wisdom, to oTolre 
The latent honours of his generous frame ; 
Till thy conducting hand shall riaise his lot 
From earth's dim scene to these ethereal walks, 
The temple of thy glory. But not me. 
Not my directing voice, he oft requires, 
Or hears delighted : this enchanting maid, 
Th' associate thou hast given me, her alone 
He loves, O Father ! absent, her he craves ; 
And but for her glad presence ever join'd 
Rejoices not in mine : that all my hopes 
This thy benignant purpose to fulfil, 
I deem uncertain ; and my daily -carea 
Unfruitful all and vain, unless by thee 
Still further aided in the work divine.' 

•f 
*'She ceased ; a voice more awful thus replied; 
' O thou ! in whom for ever I delight. 
Fairer than all th' inhabitants of heaven. 
Best image of thy author ! far from thee 
Be disappointment, or distaste, or blune ; 
Who, soon or late, shall every work fulfil* 
And no resistance find. If man refuse 
To hearken to thy dictates ; or allured 
By meaner joys, to any other power 
Transfer the honours due to thee alone ; 
That joy which he pursues he ne'er shall taste. 
That power in whom delighteth^ ne'er behold. 
Go then, onee more, and happy be thy toil : 
Go then ! but let not this thy smiling friend 



B8 THE PLEA8URB8 

Partake thy footsteps. In her stead, behold ! 

With ihee tthe soa of Nemesis I send.; 

The fiend sbhbrrM ! whose Tengeaiiee tdtes accoont 

Of saend order's violated laws. 

See where he calls thee, bumingr to be gfone, 

Fierce to exhaust the tempest of his wrath 

On yon devoted head. Bat thou, my child. 

Control his cruel frenzy, and protect 

Thy tender charge ; tha^ when despair shall grasp 

His agonizing bosom, he may learn. 

Then he may learn to love the gracious hand 

Alone sufficient in the hour of ill 

To save his feeble spirit ; then confess 

Thy genuine honours, O exc^ling fak ! 

When all the plagues that wait the deadly will 

Of this avenging demon, all the storms 

Of night infernal, serve but to display 

The energy of thy superior charms 

With mildest awe triumphant o'er his rage. 

And shining clearer in the horrid gloom.' 

" H^e ceased that awful voice, and soon I felt 
The cloudy curtain of refreshing eve 
Was closed once more, from that ^mmertati fire 
Sheltering my eyelids. Looking up, I view'd 
A vast gigantic spectre striding on 
Through murmuring thunders and a waste of clouds, 
With dreadful action. Black as night, his brow 
Relentless frowns involved. His savage limbs 
With sharp impatience violent he writh'd, 



OP IMAGINATION. .^ 

As through convulsive anguish ; and his hand, 
Ann'd with a scorpion-lash, full oft he raised 
In madness to his bosom : while his eyes 
Rain'd bitter tears, and bellowing loud, he shook 
The void with horror. Silent by his side 
The virgin came. No discomposure stirr'd 
Her features. From the gloom which hung around 
No stain of darkness mingled with the beam 
Of her divine effulgence. Now they stoop 
Upon the river-bank ; and now, to hail 
His wonted guests, with eager steps advanced 
The unsuspecting inmate of the shade. 

<' As when a famish'd wolf, that all night long 
Had ranged the Alpine snows, by chance at morn 
Sees from a cliff incumbent o'er the smoke 
t)f some lone village, a neglected kid 
That strays along the wild for herb or spring; 
Down from the winding ridge he sweeps amain, 
And thinks he tears him : so with tenfold rage. 
The monster sprung remorseless on his prey 
Amazed the stripling stood : with panting breast 
Feebly he pour'd the lamentable wail 
Of helpless consternation, struck at once. 
And rooted to the ground. The queen beheld 
His terror, and with looks of tenderest care 
Advanced to save him. Soon the tyrant felt 
Her awful power. His keen, tempestuous arm 
Hung nerveless, nor descjended where his rage 
Had aim^d the deadly blow : then dumb retired 

8* 



90 TRC PLKASI7RB8 

With sullen raacour. Lo ! the soyereign maid 
Folds wi^ a modief 's arms the fainting boy, 
Till life rekindles in his rosy cheek ; 
Then grasps his hands, and cheers him with her 
tongne. 

^ * O wake thee, rouse thy spirit ! Shall the spite 
Of yon tormentor thus appal thy heart, 
While I, thy friend and gnardian, am at hand 
To rescue and to heal % O let thy soul 
Remember, what the will of Heaven ordains 
Is eyer good for all ; and if for all. 
Then good for thee. Not only by the wannth 
And soothing sunshine of delightful things. 
Do minds grow up and flourish. Oft misled 
By that bland light, the young unpractised TieWs 
Of reason wander through a fatal road. 
Far from their natiye aim ; as if to lie 
Inglorious in the fragrant shade, and wait 
The soft access of eyer-cirding joys. 
Were all the end of being. Ask thyself. 
This pleasing error did it never lull 
Thy wishes ? Has thy constant heart refused 
The silken fetters of delicious ease ? 
Or when divine Euphrosyne appearM 
Within this dwelling, did not thy desires 
Hang far below the measure of thy fate. 
Which I revealM before thee 1 and thy eyes. 
Impatient of m^ counsels, turn away 
To drink the soft eflusion of her smiles 1 



OF IMAOINATIOW. 91 

Know then^ for this the eyerlasting Sire 

Depriyes thee of her presence, and instead, 

O wise and still benevolent ! ordains 

This horrid visage hither to pursue 

My steps ; that so thy nature may discern 

Its real good, and what alone can save 

Thy feeble spirit in this hour of ill 

From folly and despair. O yet beloved t 

Let not this headlong terror quite o'erwhelm 

Thy scattered powers ; nor fatal deem the ra^pe 

Of this tormentor, nor his proud assault, 

While I am here to vindicate thy toil 

Above the generous question of thy arm. 

Brave by thy fears, and in thy weakness strong, 

This hour he triumphs ; but confront his might, 

And dare him to the combat, then with ease 

BisaimM and qnell'd, his fierceness he resigns 

To bondage and to scorn ; while thus Inured 

By watchful danger, by unceasing toil, 

Th' immortal mind, superior to his fate, 

Amid the outrage of external things. 

Firm as the solid base of this great world, 

Bests on his own foundations. Blow, ye winds ! 

Ye waves ! ye thunders ! roll your tempest on$ 

Shake, ye old pillars of the marble sky ! 

Till all its orbs and all its worlds of fire 

Be loosen'd from their seats ; yet still serene, 

Th' unconquer'd mind looks down upon the wxeek; 

And ever stronger as the storms advance, 



I' 



93 THE PLEA8URK8 

Firm through the closing ruin holds his way. 
Where nature calls him to the ^destined goal.' 

<'So spake the goddess; while through all her 
frame 
Celestial raptures fiowM, in every word, 
In every motion kindling warmth divine 
To seize who listenM. Vehement and swift. 
As lightning fires the aromatic shade 
In Ethiopian fields, the stripling felt 
Her inspiration catch his fervid soul. 
And, starting from his languor, thus exclaimM :^ 

" ^Then let the trial comet and witness thou. 
If terror be upon me ; if I shrink 
To meet the storm, or falter in my strength 
When hardest it besets me. Do not think 
That I am fearful and infirm of soul, 
As late thy eyes beheld : for thou hast changed 
My nature ; thy commanding voice has waked 
My languid powers to bear me boldly on. 
Where'er the will divine ray path ordains 
Through toil or peril-: only do not thou 
Forsake me ; O be thou for ever near. 
That I may listen to thy sacred voice. 
And guide by thy decrees my constant feet« 
But say, for ever are ray eyes bereft ? 
Say, shall the fair Euphrosyne not once 
Appear again to charm me ? Thou, in heaven ! 
O tiiou eternal arbiter of things ! 



09 IMA0INATI.ON. 9S 

Be thy gteat bidding done : for who am I, 

To question thy appointment ? Let the frowne 

Of this avenger eveiy morn o'ercast 

The cheerful dawn, and oTery evening damp 

With double night my dwelling; I will learn 

To hail them both, and unrepining bear 

His hateful presence ; but permit my tongue 

One glad request, and if my deeds may find 

Thy awful eye propitious, O restore 

The rosy-featured maid, again to cheer 

This lonely seat, and bless me with her smiles.* 

*<He spoke; when instairt through the sable 
glocmis 
With which that furious presence had involved 
The ambient air, a flood of radiance came 
Swift as the lightning flash ; the melting clouds 
Flew diverse, and amid the blue serene 
£uphros]rne appeared. With sprightly step 
The nymph alighted on th* irriguous lawn. 
And to her wondering audience thus began. 

** * Lo ! I am here to answer to your vows* 
And be the meeting fortunate ! I come 
With joyful tidings ; we shall part no more. — 
Hark ! how the gentle echo from her cell 
Talks through the cliffs, and murmuring o'er the 

stream 
Repeats the accent8>~we shall part no more. 
O my delightful friend ! well pleased on high 



94 THE PLBASURKS 

The Father has beheld yon, while the might 
Of that stern foe with bitter trial proved 
Your equal doings ; then for ever spake 
The high decree : That thou, celestial maid ! 
Howe'er that grisly phantom en ^y ste^ 
May sometimes dare intrude, yet never more 
Shalt thou, descending to th' abode of man, 
Alone endure .the rancour of his arm, 
Or leave thy loved Euphrosyne behind.^ 

*' She «nded ; and the whole romantic scene 
Immediate vanishM ; rocks, and woods, and rills, 
The mantling tent, and -each mysterious form. 
Flew like the pictures of a morning dream. 
When sunshine fills the bed. A while J etood 
Perplez'd and giddy ; till the radiant power 
Who bade the visionary landscape rise. 
As up to him I tum'd, with gentlest looks 
Preventing my inquiry, thus began. 



«t 



< There let thy soul acknowledge its complaint, 
How blind ! how impious ! There behold the ways 
Of Heaven's eternal destiny to man. 
For ever just, 'benevolent, and wise : 
That virtue's awful -steps, 'howe'er pursued 
By vexing fortune and intrusive pain. 
Should never be divided from her Chaste, 
Her fair attendant, pleasure. Need I urge 
Thy tardy thought through all the various round 
Of this existence, that .thy softening soul 



OF IMAGINATION. 95 

At length may learn what energy the hand^ 
Of virtue mingles in the bitter tide 
Of passion, swelling with distress and pain^- 
To mitigate the sharp with gracious drops 
Of cordial pleasure I- Ask the faithful youth 
Why the cold urn of her whom long he loved 
So often fills hi& arms ; so often draws 
His lonely footsteps at the silent hour, 
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears 1 
O ! he will tell thee, that the wealth- of world» 
Should ne'er seduce His bosom to forego 
That sacred hour, when, stealing from the noise 
Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes 
With virtue's kindest looks his aching breast. 
And turns his tears to rapture.— Ask the crowd 
Which flies impatient from the village-walk 
To climb the neighbouring cliffs, when far below 
The cruel winds have hurl'd upon> the coast 
Some helpless bark ; while sacred pity melts 
The general eye, or tenor's icy hand 
Smites their distt>rted limbs and hoi^ent haii: 
While every mother closer to her breast 
Catches her child, and, pointing where the waves 
Foam through the shatter'd vesaelr.shrieksaloud^ 
As one poor wretch that spreads- his piteous arms 
For succour, swallow 'd by the roaring- surge. 
As now another,. dash'd against Uie rock, 
Drops lifeless <]U)wn : ! deemest thou indeed 
No kind endearment here by natuce given 
To mutual terror and* compassion's tears ? 



96 THE PLKA8URES 

No sweetly-melting softness which attracts, 
0*et all that edge of pain, the social powers 
To thb their proper action and their end ? 
<— Ask thy own heart ; when at the midnight hour, 
Slow through tiiat studious gloom thy pausing eye, 
Led hy the glimmering taper, moves around 
The sacred volumes of the dead, the songs 
Of Grecian bards, and records writ by fame 
For Grecian heroes, where the present power 
Of heaven and earth surveys th' immortal page. 
E'en as a father blessing, while he reads 
The praises of his son. If then thy soul, 
Spuming the yoke of these inglorious days, 
Mix in their deeds and kindle with their flame ; 
Say when the prospect blackens on thy view. 
When rooted from the base, heroic states 
M^um in the dust, and tremble at the frown 
Of curst amBiHbn ; when the pious band' 
Of youths who fought for freedom and their sires, 
Lie side by sidis in gore ; when ruffian pride 
Usurps the throne of justice, turns the pomp 
Of public power, the majesty of rnle^ 
The sword, the laurel, and^the purple robe,^ 
To slavish, empty pageants, to adorn 
A tyrant*s walk, and glitter in the eyes 
Of such as bow the knee ; when honoured urns- 
Of patriots and$ of ohiefir, the awful bust 
And storied arch, to glut the coward rage 
Of regal envy, strew the public way 



OF IMAGINATION. 97 

With hallowM ruins ; when the muse's haunt, 
The marble porch where wisdom wont to talk 
With Socrates or Tullt, hears no more, • 
Save the hoarse jargon of contentious monks. 
Or female superstition's midnight prayer; 
When ruthless rapine from the hand of time 
Tears the destroying scythe, with surer blow 
To sweep the works of glory from their base ; 
Till desolation o'er the grass-grown street 
Expands his raven wings, and up the wall. 
Where senates once the price of monarchs doom'd. 
Hisses the gliding snake through hoary weeds 
That clasp the mouldering column ; thus defaced; 
Thus widely mournful when the prospect thrills 
Thy beating bosom, when the patriot's tear 
Starts from thine eye, and thy extended arm 
In fancy hurls the thunderbolt of Jove, 
To fire the impious wreath on Philip's bcow,. 
Or dash Octavius from the trophied car ; 
Say, does thy secret soul repine to taste 
The big diistress 1 Or wouldst thou then exchange 
Those heart-ennobling sonrows for the lot 
Of him who sits amfd the gaudy herd 
Of mute barbarians bending to his nod. 
And bears aloft his gold-inyested front. 
And says within himself^! am asking. 
And wherefore should the clamorous voice of wo 
Intrude upon mine ear ?— The baleful dregs 
Of ikeae late ages, this inglorioua d^wight 

9 



98 PLEASUaBS OF IMAGINATION. 

Of servitude and folly, have not yet, 
Blest be th' etenial Ruler of the world ! 
Defiled to suck a depth of sordid shame' 
The native honours of the human soul, 
Nor so effaced the image of iis Sii^»" 



THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. 

BOOK in. , 



ARGUMENT. 



Pleasure in observing the tempers and manners of men, 
even where vicious or absurd. The origin of vice, from 
false representations of the fancy, producing false opinions 
concerning good and evil. Inquiry into ridicule. The gene- 
ral sources of ridicule in the minds and characters of men, 
enumerated. Final cause of the sense of ridicule. The re- 
semblance of certain aspects of inanimate things to the sen- 
sations and properties of the mind. The operations of the 
mind in the production of the works of imagination, described. 
The secondary pleasure from imitation. The benevolent 
order of the world illustrated in the arbitrary connexion of 
these pleasures with the objects which excite them. The 
tiature and conduct of taste. Concluding with an account 
of the natural and moral advantages resulting from a sensible 
and welWormed imagination. 



99 



THE 

PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. 

BOOK IIL 



What wonder, therefore, since th' endearing ties 
Of passion link the universal kind 
Of man so close, what wonder if to search 
This common nature through the various change 
Of sex and age, and fortune, and the frame 
Of each peculiar, draw the busy mind 
With unresisted charms 1 The spacious west, 
And all the teeming regions of the south, 
ilold not a quarry, to the carious flight 
Of knowledge, half so tempting or so fair. 
An man to man. Nor only where the smiles 
Of love invite; nor only where th' applause 
Of cordial honour turns th' attentive eye 
On virtue's graceful deeds. For since the course 
Of things external acts in different ways 
On human apprehensions, as the hand 
Of nature tempei^M to a different frame 
Peculiar minds ; so haply where the powers 
Of fancy neither lessen nor enlarge 

9* 101 



109 THE PLEASURES 

The images of things, hut paint, in all 

Their genuine hues, the features which they wore 

In nature ; there opinion will be true. 

And action right. For action treads the path 

In which opinion says he follows good, 

Or flies from evil ; and opinion gives 

Report of good or evil, as the scene 

Was drawn by fancy, lovely or deformM : 

Thus her report can never there be true. 

Where fancy cheats the intellectual eye 

With glaring colours and distorted lines. 

Is there a man, who at the sound of death 

Sees ghastly shapes of terror conjured up, 

And black before him ; naught but death-bed groans 

And fearful prayers, and plunging from the brink 

Of light and being, down the gloomy air 

An unknown depth ? Alas ! in such a mind, 

If no bright forms of excellence attend 

The image of his country ; nor the pomp 

Of sacred senates, nor the guardian voice 

Of justice on her throne, nor aught that waked 

The conscious bosom with a patriot's flame ; 

Will not opinion tell him, that to die, 

Or stand the hazard, is a greater ill 

Than to betray his country T And in act 

Will he not choose to be a wretch and live 1 

Here vice begins then. From th' enchanting cup 

Which fancy holds to all, th' unwary thirst 

Of youtli oft swallows a Circean draught. 

That sheds a baleful tincture o'er the eye 



OF IMAOINATIOK. lOS 

Of reason, till no longer he discerns, 

And only guides to err. Then revel forth 

A forions band that spurns him fironv the throne i 

And all is uproar« Thus ambition grasps 

The empire of the soul : thus pale re^Q^nge 

Unsheathe her murderous dagger ; and the hand* 

Of lust and rapine, with unholy arts, 

Watch to overturn the barrier of the laws 

That keeps them from their prey : thus all the plagues 

The wicked bear, or o'er the larembling scene 

The tragic muse discloses, under shapes 

Of honour, safety, pleasure, ease, or pomp. 

Stole first into the mind. Yet not by all 

Those lying forms which fancy in the brain 

Engenders^ are the kindling passions driven 

To guilty deeds ; nor reason bound in chains. 

That vice alone may lord it ; oft adornM 

With solemn pageants, folly mounts the throne, 

And plays her idiot-antics, like a queen* 

A thousand garbs she wears ; a thousand ways 

She wheels her giddy empire. — Lo ! thus far 

With bold adventure, to the Mantuan lyre 

I sing of nature's charms, and touch well pleasei 

A stricter note ; now haply must my song 

Unbend her serious measure, and reveal 

In lighter strains, how folly's awkward arts 

Excite impetuous laughter's gay rebuke ; 

The sportive province of the comic muse. 

See ! in what crowds the uncou^ forms advs&oe: 

Each would outstrip the other, each prevenit 



1^4 THE t^LEASUkfiS 

Our careful search, and offer to your gaze, 
Unask'd, his motley features. Wait a while. 
My curious friends ! and let us first arrange. 
In proper order your promiscuous throng. 

Behold the foremost band ; of slender thought 
And easy faith ; whom flattering fancy soothes 
With lying spectres, in themselves to view 
IHustrious forms of excellenee.and good, 
That scorn the mansion. With exulting hearts 
They spread their spurioQS treasures to the sun, 
And bid the worid admire ! but chief the glanoe 
Of wishful envy draws their joy-biight eyes. 
And lifts with self-applause each lordly brow* 
In numbers boundless as the blooms of spring:, 
Behold their glaring idols, «mpty shades 
By fancy gilded o'er, and then set up 
For adoration. Some in learning's garb, 
With formal band, and sable-cinctured gown^. 
And rags of mouldy volumes. Some elate 
With martial splendour, steely pikes, and swords 
Of co^ly frame, and gay Phoenician robes 
Inwrought with floweiy gM^ assunne the port 
Of stately valour: Mstening t>y his side 
There stands a female form ; to her, with lobks 
Of earnest import, pregnant with amaze. 
He talks of deadly deeds, of breaches, storms. 
And sulphurous mines, and ambush ; then at once 
Breaks off, and smiles to see her look so pale, 
And asks some wondering question of her feais. 



OF IMAGINATION. 106 

Others of graver mein ; behold, adorned 
With holy ensigns, how sublime they move, 
And, bending oft their sanctimonious eyes, 
Take homage of the simple-minded throng ; 
Ambassadors of Heaven ! Nor much unlike 
Is he whose visage, in the lazy mist 
That mantles every feature, hides a brood 
Of politic coneeits ; of whispers, nods, 
And hints deqM>menM with unwieldy schemes, 
And dark portents of state. Ten thousand more. 
Prodigious habits and tumultuous tongues, 
Pour dauntless in, and swell the boastful band« 

Then comes the second order, all who seek* 
The debt of praise, where watchful unbelief^ 
Darts through the thin pretence her squinting eye 
On some retired appearance, which belies 
The boasted virtue, or annuls th' applause 
That justice else would pay. Here side1>y side 
I see two leaders of the solemn train 
Approaching: one, a female old and gray. 
With eyes demure, and ¥ninkle-furrowM brow. 
Pale as the cheeks of death ; yet still she stuns 
The sickening audience with a nauseous tale ; 
How many youths her myrtle chains have worn, ' 
How many virgins at her triumphs pined ! 
Yet how resolved she guards her cautious heart; 
Such is her terror at the risks of love. 
And man's seducing tongue ! The other seems 
A bearded sage, ungentle in his mien. 



106 THE Pleasures 

And sordid all his habit ; peevish want 

Grins at his heels, while down the gazing throng . 

He stalks, resounding in magnific phrase 

The vanity of riches, the contempt 

Of pomp and power. Be pi^dont in your zeal* 

Ye grave associates ! let the silent grace 

Of her who hlusfaes at the fond regard 

Her charms inspire, more eloquent unfold 

The piaise of spotless honour : let the man 

Whose ^e regardis not his illustrious pomp 

• And ample store, but as indulgent streams 
T& cheer the barren soil and spread the fruits 
Of joy, let him by juster measures fix 

^ The pric» of riches and the end of power. 

Aaother tribe succeeds ; deluded long 
By fancy's dazzling optics, these behold 
The images of some peculiar things 
With brighter hues resplendent, and portrayed 
With features noblef far than e^er adornM 
Their genuine ^objects* H^^iee the fever'd heait 
Pants with delirious fa<^ for tinsel charms ; - 
Hence oft, obtrusive xm the eye of scorn. 
Untimely zeal her witless pride betrays ! 
And serious manhood, from the towering aim 
Of wisdom, stoops to emulate the boast 
Of childish toil. Behold yon mystic form, 
Bedeck'd with feathers, insects, weeds, and shells ! 
Not with intenser view the Samian sage 
Bent his fixM eye on heaven's intenser fires. 



OF IMAGINATION. 107 

When first the order of that radiant scene 

Swell'd his exalting thought, than this surreys 

A muckworm's entrailaor a spider's feng; 

^ext him » youth, with flowers and myrtles crownM, 

Attends that virgin form, and blushing kneels. 

With fondest gesture and a suppliant's tongue. 

To wia her coy regard t adieu, for him. 

The dull engagements of the bustling world ! 

Adieu the sick ii]^>ertinence of praise I 

And hope and action ! for with her alone 

By streams and shades, to steal these sigMng hounr 

Is all he asks, and all that fate can give ! 

Thee too, faeetious Momion^ wandering here. 

Thee, dreaded censor, oft have I beheld 

Bewilder'd unawares: alas-! too long 

Flush'd with thy comic triumphs and the spoils 

Of sly derision ! till on every side 

Hurling thy random bolts, offsnded truth 

Assign'd thee here thy station with the slave 

Of folly. Thy once formidable name 

Shall grace her humUe records, and be heard 

In scoffs and mockery, bandied from the lips 

Of^ the vengeful brotherhood around, 

So oft the patient victims of thy scorn. 

But now, ye gay ! to whom indulgent fate, 
Of all the muse's empire, hath assign'd 
The fields of folly, hithM* each advance 
Your sickles ; here the teeming soil affords 
Its richest growth. A farourite brood appears ; 



4 

108 THE PLEASURES 

In whom the demon, with a mother's joy, 
Views all her charms reflected, all her cares 
At full repaid. Ye most illustrious band ! 
Who, scorning reason's tame, pedantic rules, 
And order's vulgar bondage, neyer meant 
For souls miblime as yours, with generous seal 
Pay vice the reverence virtue long usurp-'d. 
And yield deformi^ the fond applause 
Which beauty wont to claim ; forgive my song, 
That for the blushing diflldenoe of youth, 
It shuns th' unequal province of your praise. 

Thus far triumphant in the pleasing guile 
Of bland imaginaticm^ folly's train 
Have dared our search ; but now a dastaid kind 
Advance rductant, and wUb faltering feet 
Shrink* from the gazer's eye ; enfeebled hearts 
Whom fancy chills with visionary fears. 
Or bends to servile tameness with conceits 
Of shame, of evil, or of base defect, 
Fantastic and delusive. Here the slave 
Who droops abash'd when sullen pomp surveys » 
His humbler habit ; here the trembling wretch 
IJnnerved and struck with terror's icy bolts^ 
Spent in. weak wailings, drown'd in shameful teaxB, 
At every dream of danger ; here subdued 
By frontless laughter, and the hardy, scorn. 
Of old, unfeeling vice, the abject soul, 
Who blushing half resigns the candid praise 
Of tempennoe and: honour; half disowns 



OF IMAOINATIOir. 109 

A freeman's hatred of tyrannic pride ; 

And hears with sickly smiles the venal month 

With foolest license mock the patriot's name. 

Last of the motley bands on whom the power 
Of gay derision bends her hostile aikn,- 
Is that where shameful ignorance presides. 
Beneath her sordid banners, lo ! they march. 
Like blind and lame. Whatever their donbtfnl hands 
Attempt, confusion straight appears behind, 
And troubles all the work. Tlirough many a mase, 
Perplex'd they struggle, changing ev^r$^ path, 
O'ertuming every purjiose ; then at last 
Sit down dismay'd, and leave th' entangled scene 
For scorn to sport with. Such then is th' abode 
Of folly in the mind ; and* such the shapes 
In which she governs her obsequiops train. 

Through every scene of ridicule in things 
To leiaid the tenour of my devious lay ; 
Through every swift occasion, which the hand 
Of hnghter points at, when the mirthful sting 
Distends her sallying nerves' and^^ chokes her tongue ; 
What were it but to cOunt each crystal drop 
Which morning's devry fingers on the blooms 
Of May distil 1 Suffice it to have said, 
Where'er the power of ridicule displays 
Her quaint-eyed visage, some incongruous foraii 
Some stubborn dissonance of things combined. 
Strikes on the quick observer ; whether pomp, 

10 



110 THE PLEASURES 

Or praise, or beauty, mix their partial claim 
Where sordid fashions, where ignoble deeds, 
Where foul deformity are wont to dwell ; 
Or whether these with violation loath'd 
Invade resplendent pomp's imperious mien. 
The charms of beauty, or the boast of praise. 

Ask we for what fair end, th' Almighty Sire 
In mortal bosoms wakes this gay contempt. 
These grateful stings of laughter, from disgust 
Educing pleasure ? Wherefore, but to aid 
The tardy steps of reason, and at once 
By this prompt impulse urge us to depress 
The giddy aims of folly ? Though tlie light 
Of truth, slow dawning on th' inquiring mind, 
At length unfolds, through many a subtle tie, 
How these uncouth disorders end at last 
In public evil ; yet benignant Heaven, 
Conscious how dim the dawn of truth appears 
To thousands ; conscious whBt a scanty pause 
From labours and from care, the wider lot 
Of humble life affords for studious thought 
To scan the maze of nature ; therefore stampM 
The glaring scenes with characters of scorn. 
As broad, as obvious,, to the passing clown, 
As to the letter'd sage's curious eye. 

Such are the various aspects of the mind — 
Some heavenly genius, whose unclouded thoughts 
Attain that secret harmony which blends 



OF IMAGINATION. Ill 

Th' ethereal spirit with its mould of clay ; 
O ! teach me to reveal the graceful charm 
That searchless nature o'er the sense of man 
Diffuses, to behold, in lifeless things, 
The inexpressive semblance of himself, 
Of thought and passion. Mark the sable woods 
That shade sublime yon mountain's nodding brow ; 
With what religious awe the solemn scene 
Commands your steps ! as if the reverend form 
Of Minos or of Numa should forsake 
Th' Elysian seats, and down th' embowering glade 
Move to your pausing eye ! Behold th' expanse 
Of yon gay landscape, where the silver clouds 
Flit o'er the heavens before the sprightly breeze : 
Now their gray cincture skirts the doubtful sun ; 
Now streams of splendour, through their opening veil 
Effulgent, sweep from off the gilded lawn 
Th' aerial shadows ; on the curling brook, 
And on the shady msur gin's quivering leaves 
With quickest lustre glancing; while you view 
The prospect, say, within your cheerful breast 
Plays not the lively sense of winning mirth 
With clouds and sunshine checker'd, while the round 
Of social converse, to th' inspiring tongue 
Of some gay nymph amid her subject train. 
Moves all obsequious 1 Whence is this effect, 
Hiis kindred power of such discordant things 1 
Or flows their semblance from that mystic tone 
To which the new-born mind's harmonious poweri 



113 THE PLEASURES 

At first were strung 1 Or rather from the links 
Which artful custom twines around her frame ? 

For when the different images of things, 
By chance combined, have struck th' attentire soul 
With deeper impulse, or connected long. 
Have drawn her frequent eye ; however distinct 
Th' external scenes, yet oft the ideas gain 
From that conjunction an eternal tie, 
And sympathy unbroken. Let the mind 
Recall one partner of the various league, 
Immediate, lo ! the firm co^fedeirates rise, 
And each his former station straight resumes : 
One movement governs the consenting throng. 
And all at once with rosy pleasure shine. 
Or all are saddenM with the glooms of care. 
Twas thus, if ancient fame the truth unfold, 
Two faithful needles, from th' informing touch 
Of the same parent stone, together drew 
)ts mystic virtue, and at first conspired 
With fatal impulse quivering to the pole ; 
Then, though disjoinM by kingdom?, though the main 
]^ollM it9 broad surge betw^^t, and different stars 
Beheld their wakeful motions, yet preserved 
The former friendship, and rememberM still 
The alliance of their birth : whate'er the line 
Which one possessM, nor pause, nor quiet knew 
T)i^e sure associate, ere with trembling speed 
He found its path, and fizM unerring there. 
Such is the secret union, when we feel 



aF .IMAGINATION. U3 

A Bong, a flower, a name, at once restore 

Those long connected scenes where first they moved 

Th' attention ; backward through her mazy walks 

Guiding the wanton fancy to her scope, 

To temples, courts, or fields ; with all the band 

Of painted forms, of passions and designs 

Attendant : whence, if pleasing in itself, 

The prospect from that sweet accession gains 

Redoubled influence o'er the listening mind. 

fiy these mysterious ties the busy power 
Of memory her ideal train preserves 
Entire ; or when they would elude her watch, 
Reclaims their fleeting footsteps from the waste 
Of dark oblivion ; thus collecting all 
The various forms of being, to present, 
Before the curious aim of mimic art, 
Their largest choice ; like spring's unfolded l)looiii8 
Exhaling sweetness, that the skilful bee 
May taste at will from their selected spoils 
To work her dulcet food. For not th' expanse 
Of living lakes in summer's noontide calm. 
Reflects the bordering shade, and sunbright heavens, 
With fairer semblance ; not the sculptured gold 
More faithful keeps the graver's lively trace, 
Than he, whose birth the sister powers of art 
Propitious view'd, and from his genial star 
Shed influence to the seeds of fancy kind ; 
Than his attemper'd bosom must preserve 
The seal of nature. There alone unchanged, 

10* 



114 THE PLEASURES 

Her form remains. The balmy walks of May 
There breathe perennial sweets : the trembling chonl 
Resounds for ever in th' abstracted ear. 
Melodious : and the virgin's radiant eye, 
Superior to disease, to grief, and time, 
Shines with un'bating lustre. Thus ai length 
Endow'd with all that nature can bestow, 
The child of fancy oft in silence bends 
O'er these mist treasures of his pregnant breast. 
With conscious pride. From them he oft resolves 
To frame he knows not what excelling things ; 
And win he knows not what sublime reward 
Of praise and wonder. By degrees, the mind 
Feels her young nerves dilate : the plastic powers 
Labour for action : blind emotions heave 
His bosom, and with loveliest frenzy caught, 
From earth to heaven he rolls his daring eye, 
From heaven to earth. Anon ten thottsand shapes. 
Like spectres trooping to the wlzard^s call. 
Flit swift before him. From the womb of earth. 
From ocean's bed, they «ome { th* eternal heavens 
Disclose their splendours, and the dark abyss 
Poars ottit her births unknown. With fixed gaze 
He mslrks the rising phantoms. Now compares 
Their different forms ; now blends them, now divides. 
Enlarges, and extenuates by turns ; 
Opposes, ranges in fantastic bands, 
And infinitely varies. Hither now. 
Now thither fluctuates his inconstant aim. 
With endless choice perplex'd. At length his plan 



OF IMAGINATION. 116 

Begins to open. Lucid order dawns ; 
And as from chaos old the jarring seeds 
Of nature at ike voice divine repaired 
Each to its place, till rosy earth unveil'd 
Her fragrant bosom, and the joyful sun 
Sprung up the blue serene ; by swift degrees 
Thus disentangled, his entire design 
Emerges. Colours mingle, features join, 
And lines converge ; the fainter parts retire ; 
The fairer eminent in light advance ; 
And every image on its neighbour smiles. 
A while he stands, and with a father's joy 
Contemplates. Then with Promethean art, 
Into its proper vehicle he breathes 
' The fair conception ; which, embodied thus. 
And permanent, becomes to eyes or ears 
An object ascertain'd ; while thus inform'd, 
The various organs of his mimic skill. 
The consonance of sounds, the featured rock. 
The shadowy picture and impassion'd verse. 
Beyond their proper powers attract the soul 
By that expressive semblance, while in sight 
Of nature's great original we scan 
The lively child of art ; while line by line, 
And feature after feature, we refer 
To that sublime exemplar whence it stole 
Those animating charms. Thus beauty's palm 
Betwixt them wavering hangs : applauding love 
Doubts where to choose ; and mortal man aspires 
To tempt creative praise. As when a cloud 



116 THE PLEA9C7RES 

Or j[athering hail, with limpid crusts of ice 
Enclosed and obvious to the beaming sun, 
Collects his large effulgence ; straight the heavens 
With equal flames present on either hand 
The radiant visage l Persia stands at gaze, 
Appall'd ; and on the brink of Ganges doubts 
The snowy-vested seer, in Mithra's name. 
To which the fragrance of the south shall burn, 
To which his warbled orisons ascend. 

Such various bliss the well-tuned heart enjoys, 
FavourM of Heaven ! while, plunged in sordid cares, 
Th' unfeeling vulgar mocks the boon divine; 
And harsh austerity, from whose rebuke 
Young love and smiling wonder shrink away 
AbashM, and chill of heart, with sager frowns 
Condemns the fair enchantment. On my strain. 
Perhaps e'en now some cold, fastidious judge 
Casts a disdainful eye ; and calls my toil. 
And calls the love and beauty which I sing. 
The dream of folly. Thou, grave censor ! say, 
Is beauty then a dream, because the glooms - 
Of dulness hang too heavy on thy sense. 
To let her shine upon thee ? So the man 
Whose eye ne'er open'd on the light of heaven. 
Might smile with scorn while raptured vision tells 
Of the gay-colour'd radiance flushing bright 
O'er all creation. From the wise be far 
Such gross, unhallow'd pride ; nor needs my song 
Descend so low ; but rather now unfold. 



OP IMAGINATION. 117 

If human thought could reach, or words unfold, 

By what mysterious fahric of the mind. 

The deepfelt joys and harmony of sound 

Result from airy motion ; and from shape 

The lorely phantoms of suhlime and fair. 

By what fine ties hath God connected things 

When present in the mind, which in themselres 

Hare no connexion ? Sure the rising sun 

O'er the cerulean convex of the sea, 

With equal brightness and with equal warmth 

Might roll his fiery orb ; nor yet the soul 

Thus feel her frame expanded, and her powers 

Exulting in the splendour she beholds ; 

Like a young conqueror moving through the pomp 

Of some triumphal day. When join'd at eve. 

Soft murmuring streams and gales of gentlest breath 

Melodious Philomela's wakeful strain 

Attemper, could not man's discerning ear 

Through all its tones the sympathy pursue ; 

Nor yet this breath divine of nameless joy 

Steal through his veins, and fan th' awaken'd heart, 

Mild as the breeze, yet rapturous as the song 1 

But were not nature still endow'd at large 
With all which life requires, though unadom'd 
With such enchantment : wherefore then her form 
So exquisitely fair ? her breath perfumed 
With such ethereal sweetness ? whence her voice 
Inform'd at will to raise or to repress 
Th' impassion'd soul ? and whence the robes of light 



J 



118 THE PLEASURES 

Which thus invest her with more lovely pomp 

Than fancy can describe 1 Whence but from Thee, 

O source divine of ever-flowing love, 

And thy unmeasured goodness ? Not content 

With every food of life to nourish man, 

By kind illusions of the wondering sense 

Thou makest all nature beauty to his eye. 

Or music to his ear ; well pleased he scans 

The goodly prospect ; and with inward smiles 

Treads the gay verdure of the painted plain ; 

Beholds the azure canopy of heaven, 

And living lamps that over-arch his head 

With more than regal splendour ; bends his ears 

To the full choir of water, air, and earth ; 

Nor heeds the pleasing error of his thought. 

Nor doubts the painted green or azure arch, 

Nor questions more the music's mingling sounds 

Than space, or motion, or eternal time ; 

So sweet he feeU their influence to attract 

The fixed soul ; to brighten the dull glooms 

Of care, and make the destined road of life 

Delightful to his feet. So fables tell, 

Th' adventurous hero, bound on hard exploits. 

Beholds with glad surprise, by secret spells 

Of some kind sage, the patron of his toils, 

A visionary paradise disclosed 

Amid the dubious wild : with streams, and shades, 

And airy songs, th' enchanted landscape smiles. 

Cheers his long labours, and renews his frame. 



OF IMAGINATION. 119 

• 

What then is taste, but these internal powers 
Active, and strong, and feelingly alive 
To each fine impulse 1 a discerning sense 
Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust ' 
From things deformM, or disarranged, or gross 
In species ? This, nor gems, nor stores of gold. 
Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow ; 
But God alone when first his active hand 
Imprints the secret bias of the souL 
He, mighty Parent ! wise and just in all. 
Free as the vital breeze or light of heaven. 
Reveals the charms of nature. Ask the swain 
Who journeys homeward from a summer day's 
Long labour, why, forgetful of his toils 
And due repose, he loiters to behold 
The sunshine gleaming as through amber clouds, 
O'er all the western sky ; full Soon, I ween. 
His rude expression and untutor'd airs. 
Beyond the power of language, will unfold 
The form of beauty smiling at his heart. 
How lovely ! how commanding ! But though Heaven 
In every breast hath sown these early seeds 
Of love and admiration, yet in vain. 
Without fair culture's kind parental aid. 
Without enlivening suns, and genial showers, 
And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope 
The tender plant should rear its blooming head, 
Or yield the harvest promised in its spring. 
Nor yet will every soil with equal stores 
Repay the tiller's labour ; or attend 



130 THE PLEASURES 

His will, obsequious, whether to produce 
The olive or the laurel. Different minds 
Incline to different objects : one pursues 
The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild ; 
Another sighs for harmony and grace. 
And gentlest beauty. Hence, when lightning fires 
The arch of heaven, and thunders rock the ground. 
When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air. 
And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed. 
Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky ; 
Amid the mighty uproar, while below 
The nations tremble, Shakspeare looks abroad 
From some high cliff, superior, and enjoys 
The elemental' war. But Waller longs, 
All on the margin of some flowery st^eaHii 
To spread his careless limbs amid the cool 
Of plantain shades, and to the listening deer 
The tale of slighted vows and love's disdain 
Resound soft-^Warbling all the livelong day : 
Consenting zephyr sigHs ; the Weeping rill 
Joins in his plaint, melodious ; mute the groves ; 
And hill and dale with all their echoes mourn. 
Such and so various are the tastes of men. 

O ! blest of Heaven, whom not the languid songs 
Of luxury, the siren ! not the bribes 
Of sordid wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils 
Of pageant honour, can seduce to leave 
Those ever-blooming sweets, which, from the store 
Of nature, fair imagination culls 



OF IMAOJNATIDN. 131 

To charm th' enlivenM soul ! What thoogfa not all 
Of mortal offspring can attain the heights 
Of envied life ; though only few poesesa 
Patrician treasures or imperial state ; 
Yet nature's care, to all her children just. 
With richer treasures and an ampler state. 
Endows, at large, whatever happy man 
Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp, 
The rural honours his. Whatever adorns 
The princely dome, the column and.the arch. 
The breathing marhliea' and' the sculpttured gold. 
Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim. 
His tuneful breast enjoys. For him, the spring 
Histils her dews, and> from the eilken gem 
Its lucid' leaves unfolds : for him, the hand 
Of autumn tinges every fertile branch 
With blooming gold, and blushes like the ii^orn. 
Each passtng hour sheds tribute from her wings ; 
And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, 
And loves unfelf attract Mm. Not^i breezie 
Flies, o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes 
The setting, sun's effulgence, not a strain 
From air the tenants of the wait>ling shade 
Ascends, butwheoee his bosom «an partake 
Fresh pleasure unr^proved. Nor thence partakes^ 
Fresh pleasure otfly e for th' attentive mind. 
By this harmonious action' on her powers. 
Becomes herself harmonious : wont so oft 
In outward things to meditate the charm 
Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home 

11 



193 PLEASURES or- IMAGINATION. 

To find a kindred order to exert 

Within herself this elegance of love, 

This fair inspired delight : her temper'd powers 

Refine at length, and every passion wears 

A chaster, milder, more attractive mien. 

But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze 

On nature's form, where, negligent of all 

These lesser graces, she assumes the port 

Of that eternal majesty that weigh'd 

The world's foundations, if to these the mind 

Exalts her daring eye ; then mightier far 

Will he the change, and nohler. Would the forms 

Of servile custom cramp her generous powers 1 

Would sordid policies, the harharous growth 

Of igfnorance and rapine, how her down 

To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear 1 

Lo ! she- appeals to nature, to the winds 

And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied coaite^ 

The elements and seasons :' all declare 

For what th' eternal Maker has ordain'rf 

The powers-of man : we feel within ourselves 

His energy divine : he tells the lieart,- 

He meant, he made us to hehold and love 

What he be)A>ld8 and' loves, the general orb 

Of life and being; to be great like him, 

Beneficent and active. Thus the men 

Whom nature's works can charm, with God himself 

Hold converse ; grow familiar, day by day, 

With his conceptions, act upon his' plan ; 

And form to hi^ the relish of their jpouls. 



ROGERS' 

PLBASUKBS OF MEMORY. 

IN TWO PARTS. 



1S3 



MEMOIR 



OF 



SAMUEL ROGERS. 



Fkw poets of any note have been>80 highly favoured 
by the gifts of fortune as the author of the Pleasures 
of Memory. He never knew what it was to write 
for bread or to sing for hire. The power of his strains 
owes nothing to the stimulus of poverty, nor does' 
their p]»intiveness owe any thing to its anxieties or 
humiliations^ Bom to opulence, educated with care^ 
and passing, a life, which has now, in 1838, reached 
its seventy-sixth year, almost unknown to adversity, 
and totally exempted from the persecutions of the 
world, Samuel Rogers has had every o]^ortnnity a 
poet could wish, of indulging his predilections for 
scmg, and of bringing his effusions, under the best 
auspices, before the public. Why then, it may be 
asked, has he produced so little of an effective charae^ 
ter ? Why is the Pleasures of Memory, written while 
he was yet in youth, still the best and most popular 
effort of his genius ? The answer is easy ;— he was 
a man jof business and of wealth. He inherited the 

11* 1S5 



12G MEMOIR OF ROGERS. 

responsibilities and the cares, as well as the splen- 
dour and affluence of a great banking establishment, 
to support the credit and preserve the prosperity of 
which, as his father had done, was with him, very 
properly, so much a matter of pride as at all times to 
absorb the chief portion of his attention. His station, 
besides, exposed him to the seductions of high society, 
which was likely to occupy much of the time he could 
spare from the pursuits of money dealing. What 
leisure he possessed, he naturally^ enjoyed, as men of 
fortune usually do, in relaxation and rest, which 
scarcely eveir fails to engender a habit of langraor , 
very unfavourable to the exercise of high intelledual 
powers, particularly of the poetical kiiid. * * 

The possession of great wealth has been often pn>^ 
nounced a formidable obstacle to the .cultivation of 
poetics^ talents, and there is no doubt that tfaa^^urniit 
of traffic is an obstacle still more formidable. The 
poetical propensity of Rogers had to contend ag^plisl 
both these adverse circumstances. It is there^ 
foris ilnneoessary to look for any other causes td ii^ 
count for the paucity and the general placidity of his 
produetions. ^ ' 

Otir p6et was born in London, in 1762. His fathsr 
had been an eminent and successful banker, ami,| mb 
has be^n alteady intimated, left his son the idbdiitiis 
of iKsdi his wealth and his business. The edocatloii 
of tilt latter, was conducted imder every advantage 
that abundsBt means could bommand and eligB^fe 
locality afiord. He, in fact, became an aecdmplisiied 



MBMolR or ROOBRS. 187 

sokolai; for having naturally a strong predilection ft>r 
literature, he failed not to avail himself, with proper 
diligence, of the many advantages which fortune had 
placed within his reach. His manners were formed 
in the best society of the British metropolis, at the 
time when that city excelled all others in the number 
and eminence of its illustrious men. From the grfeat 
whigs of the day. Fox, Sheridan, Lansdowne,, Hol- 
land, Russell, Grey, &c., he imbibed an attachment 
to liberal principles in religion and government, un- 
tainted with the disorganizing and licentious doctrines 
with which too many of the contemporaries of his 
early life became infected, the fallacy and pernicious 
tendency of which he perceived from their first intro- 
duction to his notice. Unlike many of the rash pro- 
selytes of the new doctrines, he has, therefore, never 
been obliged to abandon any of his early opinions on 
the great political subjects of the last half century. 

In his twenty-fourth year, Mr. Rogers ventured 
before the public with a small volume entitled, '^ An 
Ode to Superstition and other Poems.^' This vo- 
lume does not appear to have drawn much attention. 
But in the year 1792, he produced a work which 
was immediately received into public favour, and 
which to this day retains a popularity likely to con- 
tioiie as long as the language in which it is writ- 
ten. This was the Pleasures of M^nory. He ex- 
erted extraordinary pains in the composition of this 
poem. Every sentence^ every line, nay, every word, 
is said to have undergone ^e most careful and labo- 



138 MEMOIR or ROOCRfi. 

• 

rious supervision. No poem of the same length, it is 
helieved, ever occupied its author so long in its com- 
position. This extreme fastidiousness, while it re- 
sulted in the production of faultless metre, may fairly 
he considered the main cause of that want of anima- 
tion and ardour in the poem, of which its readers 
80 generally complain, hut which they readily forgive 
on accouB^ of the truly natural strain of the thoughts, 
the correctness of the diction, and the sweetness and 
melody of the verse. 

It is stated that so anxious was Rogers for the 
attainment of correctness in this poem,'-that he repeat- 
edly consulted his literary friends on the suhject, and 
would not be satisfied with any passage, until it had 
privately passed the ordeal of a variety of critics. 
Richard Sharpe, a member of parliament, and a man 
long known and esteemed in the literary circles of 
London, was a person in whose poetieed taste and 
judgment, Rogers reposed great and merited confi- 
dence. This gentleman relates that, not only before 
the first publication of the poem, but during the pre- 
paration of various editions for the press, the author 
and he read it together several hundred times, at home 
and on the continent, and in every temper of mind, in 
order to discover blemishes and make improvements. 

Although the publication of the Pleasures of Me- 
mory secured at once for die author an enviable por- 
tion of poetical fame, he 4oes not appear to have been 
thereby stimulated to much haste in seeking an in- 
crease of reputation. It was six years after the 



/ 



«. • 



MEMOIR OF ROGERS. 189 

appearance of this poem, that he brought out, *^ An 
Epistle to a Friend» and other Poems ;" and it was 
after the lapse of fourteen more, namely, in 1813, that 
he gave to the world, " The Voyage of Columbus." 
Two years afterwards, in the same volume with Lord 
Byron's Lara, appeared his agreeable little tale of 
'* Jacqueline." His next poetical publication was a 
fine composition entitled *' Human Life." In 1833, 
he gave to the world, in a style of remarkable me- 
chanical splendour, his well known poem of " Italy," 
accompanied with copious notes, some of which are 
very interesting. 

Rogers, like almost every Englishman of fortune 
and polished taste, has been a continental traveller. 
He has visited almost every country in Europe, and 
several of them he has repeatedly made the place of 
his residence for months together. During these per- 
ambulations and sojournings, he formed numerous 
acquaintances among the literati of foreign countries, 
many of which he cultivated into intimacies of the 
closest and most agreeable description. These ac- 
quaintances, when added to the many which he po9- 
sesses at home, render the sphere of his personal 
knowledge of the leading authors of the age, probably 
the most extensive at present enjoyed by any man in 
Christendom. 

There is one passage in the life of Rogers worthy 
of the poet who has sung so feelingly of the departed 
friends of his younger years, and given to the world 
such lines as the following : — 



130 MEMOIR OF ROGERS. 

*< Hush, ye fond flutterings, bush ! while here alone 
I search the lecopds of each mouldering stone. 
Guides of my life ! instructers of my youth ! 
Who first unveil*d the hallow'dtona of truth ; 
Whose every word enlighten'd and endear'd s 
In age beloved, in poverty' revered j 
In friendship's silent register ye live. 
Nor ask the vain memorial art can give." 

The passagre of our poet^s life alluded to, is the 
generous aid with which, out of his abundance, he so 
unostentatiously administered to ihe wants of his illus-^ 
trious, but poverty-struck friend, Richard Brinsley 
Sheridan, during the last melancholy scenes of his 
earthly existence. Public atl^ention was for a time 
strongly riveted on the death-bed indigence of the 
great dramatist, orator, and wit, by the rumour that he 
was ungratefully and barbarously neglected by the 
boon companions of his happier days. Among others 
of his summer friends, no less a personage than the 
late George TV., then Prince of Wales, was charged 
with being long regardless of the necessities of the 
dying statesman and author. It was said that the 
royal sympathy was at length awakened, and that a 
sum of money was accordingly sent by the order of 
th^ prince, which Sheridan returned, observing that 
it came too late, as a bountiful friend had furnished 
him with sufficient for the short remainder of his fast 
closing life. It is true that the prince has been de- 
fended from the charge of heartlessness in this trans- 
action, on the ground that he knew not of the distress 



MEMOIR OF ROGERS. 131 

of his old friend, in time to forestall the bounty of his 
more successful competitor in affording the necessary 
relief. A warm controversy, however, took place on 
the subject, for, in a free country, those high in author- 
ity will never be in want of abundance of both as- 
sailants and defenders. It was found, however, that 
the individual who Had thus gloriously outrun royalty 
in the race of benevolence, was the poet of Memory, 
and all parties united in awarding him the praise 
justly due to his well-timed munificence; 

Rogers, although still a zealous maintainor of the 
liberal principles which he espoused in early life, 
never entered the arena of public pdlitibs. A different 
course might have been expected from him, considering 
the country and the times to whifeh he belongs, to- 
gether with his constant intimacy with leading politi- 
cians, and the example of his father,' who rendered 
himself conspicuous in the history of parliamentary 
elections, by obstinately contesting the representation 
of Coventlry with Lord Sheffield^ The taste of our 
poet seems to have been more for the enjoyments of 
the peace and uibanities of private life, than for the 
eclat of display iw either* the legislative or executive 
council of the nation. He has chosen to be content 
with the splendid wreath of fame he has won fiim 
the hands of the muses, conscious that it is composed 
of more enduring materials than any that has crowned 
the brows of the ablest and proudest minister of hid 
times. 

Rogers is, on the whole, one of the most amiable 



13S MEMOIR OF ROGERS. 

and accomplished gentlemen living. His opinion on 
literaty matters is much looked up to by his nume- 
rous acquaintances, for as he envies the reputation 
of no one, his opinions are unprejudiced, and have 
acquired full credit for impartiality. His peculiarities 
are but few, either as a man or a poet. In the former 
character, suavity and good-nature are the traits which 
predominate ; in the latter, accuracy of thought and 
an extreme polish of versification are the prevailing 
characteristics. 



DISSERTATION 

ON THE 

4 

POEM OF THE PLEASURES OP MEMORY. 



The pleasure of reflecting on the joys of other days, 
is one of the sweetest and purest in life. It is also 
one of the most frequently enjoyed. Being within 
the reach of every rational being, there are few, even 
among those of the most gloomy and despondent tem- 
pers, who do not recur to its indulgence with satis- 
faction and delight. 

It is true that retrospection often recalls images 
and scenes which the mind would wish to forget; 
for scarcely any have passed even the most inno- 
cent and happy period of life, without haying expe- 
rienced misfortune, and committed acts productive of 
self-condemnation and regret. Still, on the other hand, 
there are few whose enjoyment of the spring-time of 
existence, has not been greater than their distelish ; 
and such is the fortunate formation of the human 
mind, that even they whose past life has been most 
darkened by affliction, are prone to revert their view 
most frequently to those moments of brightness which 

13 133 



134 DISSERTATION ON THV 

a benignant Providence perioaits to gleam on the 
gloomiest career. 

In reviewing the scenes of past years, their charqis 
seem to become attractive in proportion to their age ; 
while those which were once harsh and forbidding in 
their aspect, are softened, and, in many instances, even 
sweetened, by the mellowing hand of time. For the 
remark of the poet of Hope, that 

<( Distance lends enchantment to the view," 

will apply as well to the backward as to the forward 
views which we take along the vista of life. 

It is not necessary to animadvert on the causes of 
this happy characteristic of our nature. Its effects are 
too universally felt to be questioned ; and from it' pro- 
ceed too many of the best blessings of life, to permit' 
its importance, in.yielding consoratibn and comfort to 
onr clieckered existence, to 5e undervalued. 

In this tendency of the mind to cherish reflections 
of an agreeal)le rather than a' disagreeable character, 
the author of the Pleasures of IVfemory found for 
his poem a ready passport to public favour, while 
it plresented an obstacle to the success of a counter- 
poem on ** The Pains of Memory,^' written by Robert 
Merry, to the composition of which at least equal 
talent, if not equal care and labour, was applied, and 
the poetical merit of which, apart from its subject, is 
certainly not inferior. 

When the remarkable fertility of his subject is con- 
sidered, it must be confessed that Rogers has limited 



r 



PXCA8DKBS .0,F HMH.OW.X' 135 

ihe -ranfe of bis mttse to exceedingly few topiee. Tlie 
whole of the first part may, in truth, be apportioned 
into two head8,--a retrospect of the pastimes of child- 
hood, and reflections on the power of association to 
produce in the memory a succession of images which 
afford pleasure. 

There is, indeed, considerable variety furnished in 
the illustn^ons of these topics. Yet varions as 
they are, they are all drawn from familiar sources. 
They exhibit no pedantic display of scholastic learn- 
ing or of peculiar thinking. They are all such as 
it may be supposed every man of reasonable in- 
formation, at the present era, must be acquainted 
with. j4.nd in this judicious selection of illustra- 
tions and allusions, consists one of the chief charms 
of the work. Poetry is never more pleasing to un- 
sophisticated minds, than when it portrays scenes 
with which they are acquainted, or celebrates events 
whicl) have administered to their happiness. The 
attractions of Thomson's Seasons, and of Goldsmith's 
Deserted Village, proceed, in a great degree, from the 
familiarity of the pictures they present to our contem- 
plation. In imitation of these undying bards, Rogers 
has chosen to give us drawings from real nature, and 
to introduce to us linciidents of apparently actual occur- 
rence. On these we delight to dwell, for they restore 
to our sensations, departed fascinations and joys we had 
felt before. Where is the well regulated mind or the 
rightly disposed heart, to which such a picture as the 
following will not commuaicftte pleasure ? Speaking 



ItM l^lAd'CItTATION ON THE 

of the old hall whcnre once *< Ja«tice held the grave 
Atkf^Vd,'** the poet says,^- 

« Now 9tain'tl with dews, with cobwebs darkly hung, 
Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung. 
When round yon ample board, in due degree, 
We sweeten M every meal with social glee. 
The heart's light laugh pursued the circling jest ; 
And all was sunshine in each little breast. 
'Twas here we chased the slipper by the sound, 
And tum'd the blindfold hero round and round. 
'Twas here at eve we form'd our fairy ring. 
And fancy fluttered on her wildest wing. 
Giants and genii chain'd each wondering ear ; 
And orphan sorrows drew the ready tear. 
Oft with the babes we wander'd in the wood. 
Or view'd the forest feats of Robin Hood." 

Some of the passa^ illustrative of the reminls- 
eences of childhood, will strongly remind the reader 
of Goldsmith's distinct and impressive manner of 
grouping rural and domestic images; and although 
he may not find the exquisite simplicity of that miost 
natural of poets, he will meet with sufficient sweet- 
ness and elegance to induce him to hesitate whether 
he shooid not place those fine passages in the same 
rank of poetical excellence with the strains of the 
bard of Auburn. 

The poet, having dismissed the consideration of 
these endearing remembrances, proceeds to elucidate 
the power whieh one idea has in calling up another in 
tlie mind. To this connexion of ideas he ascribes 



PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 137 

much of the force of .that attachment which binds man 
to his natiTe soil, aiid engeivders the feelings of pa- 
triotism, and of veneration for the scenes df celebrated 
actions, and the abodes of the luminaries of past 
ages. 

>*< Hence, homcfelt pleasiue prompts the patriot's sigh ; 
This makes him wish to live, and dare to die. 

And hence the chaim historic scenes impart. 
Hence Tiber awes, and Avon melts the heart. 
Atrial forms, in Tempi's classic vale 
Glance through the gloom, and whisper in the gale. 
In wild Vaucluse with love and Laura dwell. 
And w%tch and weep in Eloisa's cell.*' 

He then adverts to the power of memoiy in the 
inferior animals,^nstanoed in the horse, the dog, the 
carrier-pigeon, and the bee. In relation to the carrier- 

4 

pigeon, he introdaces, with great beauty and feeling, 
an incident which took place at 4he siege of Haarlem 
in the sixteenth centdry. When the inhabitants of 
that city, worn oat by hardships and famine, besought 
the governor to surrender to a merciless enemy, he 
was encouraged to persevere in the defence, by the 
opportune arrival of a carrier pigeon with intelligence 
that relief was approaching. 

.« Sweet bird ! thy troth shall Haarlem's walls attest. 
And unborn ages consecrate thy nest. 
When with the silent energy of grief, 
With looks that asked, yet dared not hope relief, 

19* 



138 DISSERTATION ON THE 

Wuit with her babes round generous valour clung. 
To wring the slow surrender from his tongue, 
*Twas thine to animate her closing eye ; 
Alas ! 'Iwas thine perchance the first to die/ 
Crudh'd by her meager hand when welcomed from the 
sky." 

In the second part of the poem, its author selects 
more abstract and more elevated themes, and takes 
a higher flight. Hp had as yet only exhibited me- 
mory as subservient to sensation ; he now shows her 
lending her aid to the acquirement of knowledge. 
He then descants on the consolations of memory to 
the afflicted and forsaken ; and introduces her as in 
active operation when sleep has suspended the other 
faculties from their proper influence ; and shows that, 
e^en in a state of madness^ remembrance of the lae- 
lovisd past ean administer consolation. 

Thtit a state of retirement is the most favourable 
cooditionNfor enjoying the sweets of lecollectipn, he 
illustrates by a beautiful tale, which is perhaps the 
most read, because the most pleasing to the fancy as 
well as touching to the heart, of any passage in the 
work. The young and beautiful Julia, the beloved 
of the faithful and devoted Florio, is accidentally 
drowned {•*- 

" Her father strew 'd his white hairs in ^e wind, 
Call'd on his child, — ^nor lingered long behind ; 
And Florio lived to see the willow wave, 
With many an evening whisper, o'er their grave. 
Yes, Florio lived,—- and, still of each possessed. 
The iftther cheriah'd and the nuud caress'dt 



PI.9.ASURE8 OF ME MO R 7. 139 

The poet now takes* at the conelasion of Ae poem, 
a still higher flight, and sings of a more exalted 
species of memory, which he supposes to be pos- 
sessed by the angelic orders. 

** But is ber magic only felt below ? 
Say thiougb what biigbter realms sbe bids it flowjn- 
To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere. 
She yields delight but faintly imaged here ?" 

The apostrophe of the poet to his deceased brother, 
near the close of the work, is one of the noblest and 
most affecting effusions of the kind, to be found in 
poetry. Its language is true to nature, to feeling, to 
morality, to religion, and worthy of the heavenly 
theme on which it is employed. 

The prominent blemishes of this poem are its lan- 
gour and effeminacy of thought and expression, and the 
very perceptible slowness of the movement of its metre. 
The following passage, by no means the feeblest in 
the poem, will exemplify these blemishes ; and yet it 
is a passage against which no direct violation of the 
rules of composition, in either the sense or diction, 
can be alleged : — 

« As o'er the dusky furniture I bend. 
Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend. 
The storied arras, source of fond delight. 
With old achievements charms the wilder'd sight $ 
And still with heraldry's rich hues imprest. 
On the dim window glows the pictured crest. 
The screen unfolds its many-colour!d chart ; 
The clock stiapoints its moral to th« heart} 



140 DISSERTATION ON THB 

Tbat faitUiil monitor, *twa8 heftyen to bear. 

When soft it spake a promised pleasvie near; 

And has its sober ban^f its simile chime. 

Forgot to trace the feather'd feet of time ? 

That massive beam, with curious carving wrought. 

Whence the caged Unnet soothed my pensive thought i 

Those muskets, cased with venerable rust ; 

Those once-loved forms still breathing through their djost. 

Still from their frame, in mould gigantic cast. 

Starting to l^fe — all whisper of .the past. 



» 



To many xeadfirs of English rhyme, triplets aije 
always unpleasant ', ai^d there ai:e few of the admirers 
of Rogers bat will admit, ^h^t the excellence of this 
poem woald have suffered nothing, hsid he introduced 
them into it less frequently. It may seem hypercriti- 
cal to point out the two foljiowing falj^e jrhymes, as 
defects worthy of attention. In any fo^jf^ ])ut one 
which lays jslaim to the l^ghe^t e^c^lleQJC^ jn the 
formatjioi) of its verses^ and which woul4 ha^e been 
absoljil^ly pteiSec^ in this respect if labopr and caiie 
could haye .^ccpmplisbed perfection, it would savour 
of petulance to notice errors so trivial. But in a wor)^ 
of such high repiate for exqiusite finish, such defects 
furnish a ba4 example, against which it ia desirable 
to guard 4he tyro in poetical composition. 

« Turns on the nei^^hbouring hill once more to sse 

The de^ abode of peace and privacy.'* 
• • • • • 

M And win eacb wavering purpose to nUni 
With wannth so mild, so gently violsitf." 



PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 141 

Every reader will see the objection to these rhymes ; 
and it is scarcely necessary to observe that English 
rhyme does not allow the consonants which com- 
mence the rhyming syllables, to be either the same, 
or of similar sounds. As well might a poet venture 
to rhyme man with man, or book with book, as the 
syllables above italicized. 

But the poem must indeed be well written, in the 
composition of which, no greater defects than are here 
noticed, can be discovered ; and he must be a fasti- 
dious reader who would permit such slight imperfec- 
tions to arrest his attention from the innumerable 
beauties of both thought and expression with which 
the work before us abounds. 

On the whole, "The Pleasures of Memory," although 
not so animated and impressive as some other of 
the poems of "The Pleasures," is a production wor- 
thy of companionship with the best of them ; and the 
verdict of the world has been so long and so decisively 
given in its favour, that it would be equally vain and 
-presumptuous to question its claims to a distinguished 
place among the didactic poems of England. 



THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 

IN TWO PART& 



— ^Hoc est 
Viverc bis, vita posse priore £rui.— JIfor*. 

O COULD my mind, anfolded in my page, 

Enlighten cU'meV and" mould a future age; 

lliere as it glowM, with noblest frenay fraught. 

Dispense the treasures of exalted tHou^t ;' 

To Tinoe wake the pulses of the heart. 

And bid the tear of emulation start ! 

O could it still, through each succeeding year. 

My life, my manners, and my name endear ; 

And when the poet sleeps in silent dust, 

Still hold- communion with the wise and juat ! 

Yet should this verse, my leisure's best resource. 

When throng the wtJrld it stieals its secret course. 

Revive but once a generous wish sttpprest. 

Chase but a sigh, or charm a care to rest; 

In one good deed a fleeting hour employ. 

Or flush one faded cheek with honest joy ; 

Blest were my lines, though limited their sphere. 

Though short their date as his who traced them here/ 

1793 

143 



ANALYSIS OF PART L 



The poem begins with the description of an obscure vil- 
lage, and of the pleasing melancholy which it excites on be- 
ing revisited after a long absence. This mixed sensation is 
an effect of the memory. From an effect we naturally as- 
cend to the cause ; and the subject proposed is then unfolded, 
with an investigation of the nature and leading principles 
of this faculty. 

It is evident that our ideas flow iu continual succession, 
and introduce each other with a certain degree of regularity. 
They .are sometimes: excited by sensible objects, and soviet 
times by an internal operation of the mind. Of the former 
species is most probably the memory of brutes ; and its many 
sources of pleasure to them, as well as tut us, are considered 
in the first part. The latter is the mo»t perfect degree of 
memory, and forms the subject of the second. 

When ideas have any relation whatever, they are allsaeti 
ive of each other in the mind; and the perception of a^y 
object naturally leads to the idea of another, which was con- 
nected with it either in time or plaK^e, or which can' be- com- 
pared or contrasted with it Hence arises our i^ttachment 
to inanimate objects ; hence also, in some degree, the love 
of our countnr, and the emotion with which we contemplate 
the celebrated scenes of antiquity. Henee a pictnifi directs 
our thoughts to the original ; and, as cold and darirness sug- 
l^st forcibly the ideas of heat and light, he, who feels tiie 
infirmities of age, dwells most on whatever runindB- him of ' 
the vigour and vivacity of bis, youth. 

The associating principle, as here employed^ is no less 6on- ' 
ducive to virtue than to happmess i and^ as such, it Ireqmintlgit 
discovers itseliia the most tumultuous scenes of life. |t. 
addresses our finer feelings, and gives exercise to every mild 
and generous propensity. 

Not confined to man, it extends through all animated na- 
ture ; and its effects are peculiarly striking in the' domestic 
tribes. 



144 



THE 



PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 
PART I. 



Dolce sentier, .... 
CoUe, che mi piacesti, 
Ov' ancor per usanza Amor mi mena 
Ben riconosco iu vol 1' usate forme, 
Non, lasso, in me. 



Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green, 
With magic tints to harmonize the scene. 
Still'd is the hum that through the hamlet broke 
When round the ruins of their ancient oak 
The peasants flock'd to hear the minstrel play, 
And games and carols closed the busy day. 
Her wheel at rest, the matron thrills no more 
With treasured tales and legendary lore. 
All, all are fled : nor mirth nor music flows 
To chase the dreams of innocent repose. 
All, all are fled ; yet still I linger here ! 
What secret charms this silent spot endear ! 

Mark yon old mansion frowning through the trees. 
Whose hollow turret wooes the whistling breeze. 
That casement arch'd with ivy's brownest shade, 
First to these eyes the light of heaven convey'd. 

13 145 



146 TBE PLEASURES 

The mouldering gatejFay strews the grass^grown 

court, 
Once the calm scene of many a simple sport; 
When nature pleased, for life itself was new. 
And the heart promised what the fancy drew. 

See, through the fractured pediment revealM, 
Where moss inlays the rudely sculptured shield, 
The martin's old, hereditary nest : 
Long may the ruin spare its hallowM guest ! 

As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call ! 
O haste, unfold the hospitable hall ! 
That hall, where once, in antiquated state. 
The chair of justice held the grave debate. 

Now stainM with dews, with cobwebs darkly hung, 
Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung; 
When round yon ample board, in due degree. 
We sweetenM every meal with social glee. 
The heart's light laugh pursued the circling jest ; 
And all was sunshine in each little breast. 
'Twas here we chased the slipper by the sound ; 
And tum'd the blindfold hero round and round. 
Twas here, at eve, we form'd our fairy ring ; 
And fancy fluttered on her wildest wing. 
Giants and genii chain'd each wondering ear ; 
And orphan sorrows drew the ready tear. 
Oft with the babes we wanderM in the wood. 
Or yiewM the forest feats of Robin Hood : 



OF' MEMORY. 147 

Oft, fancy-led, at midnight's fearful hour, 
With startling step, we scaled the lonely tower ; 
O'er infant innocence to hang and weep, 
Marder'd by ruffian hands, when smiling in its sleep. 

Ye honsehold deities ! whose guardian eye 
Mark'd each pure thought, ere registered on high ; 
Still, still ye walk the consecrated ground, 
And breathe the soul of inspiration round. 

As o'er the dusky furniture I bend, 
Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend. 
The storied arras, source of fond delight. 
With old achievement charms the wilder'd sight ; 
And still with heraldry's rich hues imprest. 
On the dim window glows the pictured crest. 
The screen unfolds its many-colour'd chart, 
The clock still points its moral to the heart. 
That faithful monitor 'twas heaven to hear, 
When soft it spoke a promised pleasure near ; 
And has its sober hand, its simple chime. 
Forgot to trace the feaiher'd feet of time 1 
That massive beam with curious earvings wrought. 
Whence the caged linnet sooliied my pensive thought ; 
Those muskets, cased with venerable rust ; 
Those once-loved forms, still breathing through their 

dust. 
Still from the frame, in mould gigantic cast, 
Starting to life-^all whisper of the past ! 



148 THE PLEASURES 

As through the garden's desert paths I rove, 
What fond illusions swarm in every grove ! 
How oft, wh^i purple evening tinged the west 
We watch'd the emmet to her grainy nest ; 
Welcomed the wild-bee home on weary wing. 
Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring ! 
How oft inscribed, with friendship's votive rhyme, 
The bark now silver'd by the touch of time ; 
SoarM in the swing, half pleased and half afraid, 
Through sister elms that waved their summer shade ; 
Or strewed with crumbs yon root-inwoven seat. 
To lure the redhreast from his lone retreat^ 

Childhood's loved group revisits every scene ; 
The tangled wood-walk, and the tufted green ! 
Indulgent Mbmort wakes, and lo, they live ! 
Clothed with far softer hues than light can give. 
Thou first, best friend that Heaven assigns below. 
To soothe and sweeten all the cares we know ; 
Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm. 
When nature fades, and life forgets to charm ; 
Thee would the muse invoke ! — to thee belong 
The sage's precept, and the poet's song. 
What soften'd views thy magic glass reveals. 
When o'er the landscape time's meek twilight 

eteals! 
As when in ocean sinks the orb of day. 
Long on the wave reflected lustres play ; 
Thy temper'd gleams of happiness resign'd. 
Glance on the darken'd mirror of the mind. 



or MEMORY. 149 

The school's lone porch, with reverend mosses 

gray* 
Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay. 

Mute is the hell that rung at peep of dawn, 

Quickening my truant feet across the lawn : 

Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air, 

When the slow dial gave a panse to care. 

Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear, 

Some little friendship form'd and cherishM here ; 

And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems 

With golden visions and romantic dreams ! 

Down by, yon hazel copse, at evening, blazed 
The gipsy's fagot — ^there we stood and gazed ; 
Gazed on her sunburnt face with silent awe. 
Her tatter'd mantle, and her hood of straw ; 
Her movikg lips, her caldron brimming o'er ; 
The drowsy brood that on her back she bore^ 
Imps, in the barn with mousing owlet bred. 
From rifled roost at nightly revel fed ; 
Whose dark eyes flash'd through locks of blackest 

shade. 
When in the breeze the distant watch-dog bayM :— 
And heroes fled the Sibyl's mutter'd call. 
Whose elfin prowess scaled the orchard-wall. 
As o'er my palm the silver piece she drew. 
And traced the line of life with setarching view. 
How throbb'd my fluttering pulse with hopes and 

fears. 
To learn the colour of my future years ! 

13* 



150 THE PLEASURES 

Abf iheii, wha^hoDest triumph flushM my breast ; 
This truth once known — ^To bless is to be blest ! 
We led the bending begpgar on his way, 
(Bare were his feet, his tresses silver gray,) 
Soothed the keen pangs his aged spirit felt, 
And on his tale with mute attention dwelt. 
As in his scrip we dropt our little store, 
And sigh'd to think that little was no more. 
He breathed his prayer, ** Long may such goodness 

live !" 
'Twas all he gave, 'twas all he had to give. 
Angels, when mercy's mandate wingM their flight. 
Had sto|yt to dwell with pleasure on the sight. 

But hark ! through those old firs, with sullen swell, 
The church-clock strikes! ye tender scenes, fare- 
well ! 
It calls me hence, beneath their shade to trace 
The few fond lines that time may soon efface. 

O^ yon gray stone, that fronts the chancel-door* 
Worn smooth by busy feet now seen no more, 
Each eve we shot the marble through the ring, 
When the heart danced, and life awas in its spring; 
Alas ! unconscious of the kindred earth, 
That faintly echoed to the voice of mirth. 

The glpw-worm loves her emerald light to shed 
Where now the sexton rests his hoary head. 



or MBMORV. 151 

Oft, as he tam'd the greensward with his spade, 
He lectured every youth that round him play'd; 
And calmly pointing where our fathers lay, 
Roused us to rival each, the hero of his day. 

Hush, ye fond flutterings, hush ! while here alone 
I search the records of each mouldering stone. 
Guides of my life ! instructers of my youth ! 
Who first unveilM the hallow'd form of truth ; 
Whose every word enlightened and endearM ; 
In age beloved, in poverty revered ; 
In friendship's silent register ye live. 
Nor ask the vain memorial art can give. 

But when the sons of peace, of pleasure sleep. 
When only sorrow wakes, and wakes to weep. 
What spells entrance my visionary mind 
With sighs 80 sweet, with transports so refined ! 

Ethereal power! who at the noon of night 
Recall'st the far-fied spirit of delight ; 
From whom that musing, melancholy mood 
Which charms the wise, and elevates the good ; 
Blest Mbmory, hail ! O grant the grateful muse, 
Her pencil dipt in nature's living hues. 
To pass the clouds that round thy empire roll. 
And trace its airy precincts in the soul. 

LbllM in the countless chambers of the brain, 
Our thoughts are liskM by many a hidden chain. 



152 THE PLBA8URE8 

Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise !* ^ 
Each stamps its image as the other flies 
Each, as the various avenaes of sense 
Delight or sorrow to the soal dispense. 
Brightens or fades ; yet all, with magic art, 
Control the latent fibres of the heart. 
As stndious Prosperous mysterious spell 
Drew every subject-spirit to his cell ; 
Each, at thy call, advances or retires,  

As judgment dictates or the scene inspires. 
Each thrills the seat of sense, that sacred source 
Whence the fine nerves direct their mazy course. 
And through the frame invisibly convey 
The subtle, quick vibrations as they play ; 
Man^s little universe at once o'ercast. 
At once illumined when the cloud is past. 

Survey the globe, each ruder realm explore ; 
From reason^s faintest ray to Newton soar. 
What different spheres to human bliss assign'd ! 
What slow gpradations in the scale of mind ! 
Yet mark in each these mystic wonders wrought; 
O mark the sleepless energies of thought ! 

Th* adventurous boy, that asks his little share, 
And hies from home with many a gossip's prayer, 

* Namqne ilUc posuit solium, et 8U% templa sacravit 
Mens animi : hanc circum coeunt, densoqne feruntur 
Agmme notitiae, simulacraque tenuia remm. 



\ 



OP MEMORT. 163 



Turns on the neighbouring hill, once more to 

The dear abode of peace and privacy ; 

And as he turns, the thatch among the trees* 

The smoke's blue wreaths ascending with the breeze, 

The village common spotted white with sheep, 

The churchyard yews round which his fathers sleep; 

All rouse reflection's sadly-pleasing train. 

Ami oft he looks and weeps, and looks again* 

So, when the mild Tupia dared explore 
Arts yet untaught, and worlds unknown before. 
And, with the sons of science, woo'd the gale 
That, rising, swellM their strange expanse of sail ; 
So, when he breathed his firm yet fond adieu, 
Borne from his leafy hut, his carved canoe, 
And all his soul best loved — such tears he shed, 
While each soft scene of summer beauty fled. 
Long o'er the wave a wistful look he cast, 
Long watch'd the streaming signal from the mast; 
Till twilight's dewy tints deceived his eye, 
And fairy forests fringed the evening sky. 

So Scotia's queen, as slowly dawn'd the day. 
Rose on her couch, and gazed her soul away. 
Her eyes had bless'd the beacon's glimmering height, 
That faintly tipt the feathery surge with light ; 
But now the morn with orient hues porfray'd 
Each castled cliff, and brown monastic shade : 
All touch'd the talisman's resistless spring, 
And lo, what busy tribes were instant on the wing ! 



164 THE PLEASURES 

Thus kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire, 
As summer clouds flash forth electric fire. 
And hence this spot gives back the joys of youth, 
Warm as the life, and with the mirror's truth. 
Hence hpmefelt pleasure prompts the patriot's sigh ; 
This makes him wish to liye, and dare to die. 
For this young Foscari, whose hapless fate 
Venice should blush to hear the muse relatCj ' 
When exile wore his blooming years away. 
To sorrow's long soliloquies a prey. 
When reason, justice, vainly urged his cause. 
For this he roused her sanguinary laws ; 
Glad to return, though hope could grant no more. 
And chains and torture hail'd him to the shore. 

And hence the charm historic scenes impart ; 
Hence Tiber awes, and Avon melts the heart. 
Aerial forms, in Tempe's classic vale. 
Glance through the gloom, and whisper in the gale ; 
In wild Vaucluse with love and Laura dwell. 
And watch and weep in Eloisa's cell. 
'Twas ever thus. Young Ammon, when he sought 
Where Ilium stood, and where Pblidbs fought. 
Sate at the helm himself. No meaner hand 
Steer'd through the waves ; and when he struck the 

land, - 
Such in his soul the ardour to explore, 
PELiDES-like, he leap'd the first ashore. 
'Twas ever thus. As now at Virgil's tomb 
We bless the shade, and bid the verdure bloom : 



OF MEMORY. I5S 

So TuLLY paused, amid the wrecks of time, 
On the rude stone to trace the truth sublime ; 
When at his feet, in honourM dust disclosed, 
Th' immortal sage of Syracuse reposed. 
And as he long in sweet delusion hung. 
Where once a Plato taught, a Pindar sung ; 
Who now but meets him musing, when he roves 
His ruin'd Tusculan's romantic groves ! 
In Rome's great forum, who but hears him roll 
His moral thunders o'er the subject soul ! 

And hence that calm delight the portrait gives : 
We gaze on every feature till it lives ! 
Still the fond lover sees the absent maid ; 
And the lost friend still lingers in his shaded 
Say why the pensive widow loves to weep, 
When on her knee she rocks her babe to sleep : 
Tremblingly still, she lifts l\is veil to trace 
The father's features in his infant face. 
The hoary grand^ire smiles the hour away. 
Won by the raptures of a game at play ; 
He bends to meet each artless burst of joy. 
Forgets his age, and acts again the boy. 

What though the iron school of war erase 
Each milder virtue, and each softer grace; 
What though the fiend's torpedo-touch anest 
Each gentler, finer impulse of the breast ; 
Still shall this active principle preside. 
And wake the tear to pity's self denied. 



156 TH9 PLEAJ3URES 

Th' intrepid Swiss, who guards a foreign shore, 
CondemnM to climb his mountain cliffs no more, 
If chance he hears the song so sweetly wild. 
Which on those cliffs his infant hours beguiled, 
Melts at the long-lost scenes that round him rise, 
And sinks a martyr to repentant sighs. 

Ask not if courts or camps dissolve the charm : 
Say why Vespasian loved his Sabine farm ; 
Why great Navarre, when France and freedom bled. 
Sought the lone limits of a forest-shed. 
When Diocletian's self-corrected mind 
Th' imperial fasces of a world resign'd, 
Say why we trace the labours of his spade 
In calm Selena's philosophic shade. 
Say, when contentious Charles renounced a throne. 
To muse with monks unletter'd and unknown. 
What from his soul the parting tribute drew ? 
What claimM the sorrows of a last adieu 1 
The still retreats that soothed his tranquil breast, 
Ere grandeur dazzled, and its cares oppressM. 

Undamp'd by time, the generous instinct glows 
Far as Angola's sands, as Zembla's snows ; 
Glows in the tiger's den, the serpent's nest. 
On every form of varied life imprest. 
The social tribes its choicest influence hail :— 
And when the drum beats briskly iA the gale, 
The war-worn courser charges at the sound. 
And with young Tigour wheels the pasttire round. 



OF MEMORY. 157 

Oft has the aged tenant of the rale 
LeanM on his staff to lengthen oat the tale ; 
Oft have his lips the grateful tribute breathed. 
From sire to son with pious zeal bequeathed, 
When o'er the blasted heath the day declined. 
And on the scath'd oak warr'd the winter wind ; 
When not a distant taper's twinkling ray 
Gleam'd o'er the furze to light him on his way ; 
When not a sheep-bell soothed his listening ear. 
And the big rain-drops told the tempest near ; 
Then did his horse the homeward track descry. 
The track that shunn'd his sad, inquiring eye : 
And win each wavering purpose to relent. 
With warmth so mild, so gently violent. 
That his charm'd hand the careless rein resign'd. 
And doubts and terrors vanish'd from his mind. 

Recall the traveller, whose alter'd form 
Has borne the buffet of the mountain storm ; 
And who will first his fond impatience meet ? 
His faithful dog's already at his feet ! 
Yes, though the porter spurn him from the door. 
Though all that knew him, know his face no more. 
His faithful dog shall tell his joy to each, 
With that mute eloquence which passes speech.— 
And see the master but returns to die ! 
Yet who shall bid the watchful servant fly I 
The blasts of heaven, the drenching dews of earth, 
The wanton insults of unfeeling mirth, 

14 



158 THE PLEASURES 

These, when to guard misfortune's sacred gitswe^ 
Will firm fidelity exult to brave. 

Led by what chart, transports the timid dore 
The wreaths of conquest, or the yows of love I 
Say, through the clouds what compass points her 

flight? 
Monarchs have gazed, and nations blessM the sight 
Pile rocks on rocks, bid woods and mountains rise. 
Eclipse her native shades, her native skies :-— 
'Tis vain ! through ether's pathless wilds she goes. 
And lights at last where all her cares repose. 

Sweet bird ! thy truth shall Haarlem's walls attest, 
And unborn ages consecrate thy nest. 
When, with the silent energy of grief. 
With looks that ask'd, yet dared not hope relief. 
Want with her babes round generous valour clang. 
To wring the slow surrender from his tongue, 
'Twas thine to animate her closing eye ; 
Alas ! 'twas thine perchance the first to die, 
Grnsh'd by her meager hand, when welcomed from 
the sky. 

Hark ! the bee winds her small but mellow horn. 
Blithe to salute the sunny smile of mom. 
O'er thymy downs she bends her busy course, 
And many a stream allures. her to its source. 
'Tis noon, 'tis night That eye so finely wrought, 
Beyond the search of sense, the soar of thought. 



or MEMORY. 169 

Now vainly asks the scenes she left behind ; 
Its orb so fuUa its vision so confined ! 
Who guides the patient pilgrim to her cell 1 
Who bids her soul with conscious triumph swell 1 
With conscious truth retrace the mazy clue 
Of summer scents that charm'd her as she flew t 
Hail, Memory, hail ! thy universal reign 
Guards the least link of being's glorious chain* 



NOTES 

TO 

PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 

PART I. 



P. 148, 1. 3. 
How oft, when purple evening tinged the weat. 
ViBoiL, in one of his Eclogues, describes a romantic at- 
tachment as conceived in such circumstances ; and the de- 
scription is so true to nature, that we must surely be indebted 
for it to some early recollection. *< You were little when I 
first saw you. You were with your mother gathering fruit 
in our orchard, and I was your guide. I was just entering 
my thirteenth year, and just able to reach the boughs from 
the ground." 

. So also Zappi, an Italian poet of the last century. ** When 
I used to measure myself with my goat, and my goat was 
the tallest, even then I loved Clori." 

P. 149, 1. 7. 
Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear. 
I came to the place of my birth, and cried, « The friends 
of my youth, where are they?" — And an echo answered, 
*« Where toe they ?"— JVoro an Arabic MS, 

P. 152, 1. 1. 
Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise ! 
When a traveller, who was surveying the ruins of Rome, 
expressed a desire to possess some relic of its ancient grand- 

160 



' P^iBASURES or MEMORY. 161 

eiir, Pouisson, vrho attended him, stooped down, and gather- 
ing up a handfal of earth shining with small grains of por- 
phyry, '* Take this home," said he, ** for your cabinet ; and 
say boldly, Questa d Roma Antica." 

P. 163, 1. 6. 
The churchyard yews round which his fathers sleep. 
Every man, like Gulliver in Lilliput, is fastened to some 
spot of earth, by the thousand small threads which habit and 
association are continually stealing over him. Of these, per- 
haps, one of the strongest is hero alluded to. 

^hen the Canadian Indians were once solicited to emigrate, 
"What!" they replied, <* shall we say to the bones of our 
fathers. Arise, and go with us into a foreign land ?' 



)»> 



P. 163, 1. 13. 
Soy when he breathed his firm yet fond adieu. 

See Cook's first voyage, book i. chap. 16. 

Another very affecting instance of local attachment is 
related of his fellow countryman Potaveri, who came to Eu- 
rope with M. de Bougainville. — See Les Jardins, chant, ii. 

P. 163, 1. 21. 
So Scotia's queen, ftc. 

Elle se leve sur son lit, et se met k contempler la France 
encore, et tant qu'elle peut. — Brantdme, 

P. 164, 1. 1. 
Thus kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire. 
To an accidental association may be ascribed some of the 
noblest efforts of human genius. The historian of the De- 
claQe and Fall of the Roman Empire first conceived his de- 
sign among the ruins of the Capitol ; and to tiie toneft of a 
Welsh harp are we indebted for the Bard of Gray 

14* 



1$9 NOTES TO , 

P. 154, 1. 6. 
Hence homefelt pleasure, &c. 

Who can enough admire the affectionate attachment of 
Plutarch, who thus concludes his enumeration of the advan* 
tages of a great city to men of letters ? « As to myself, I 
live in a little town ; and I choose to live there, lest it should 
become still less." — Vit. Demosth. 

P. 154, 1. 7. 
For this young Foscari, kc. 

He was suspected of murder, and at Venice suspicion was 
good evidence. Neither the interest of the doge, his father, 
nor the intrepidity of conscious innocence, which he exhibit- 
ed in the dungeon and on the rack, could procure his acquit« 
tal. He was banished to the island of Candia for life. 

But here his resolution failed him. At such a distance 
from home he could not live ; and, as it was a criminal of- 
fence to solicit the intercession of any foreign prince, in a At 
of despair he addressed a letter to the Duke of Milan, and 
intrusted it to a wretch whose perfidy, he knew, would occa- 
sion bis being remanded a prisoner to Venice. 

P. 164, 1. 16. 
And hence the ehaims historic scenes impart. 
Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses ; 
whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predomi- 
nate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking 
beings. Far from me and from my friends be such frigid 
philosophy as may e<Miduct us indifferent and unmoved over 
any ground whieh has been dignified by wisdom, bravely, er 
viitoD. That Bian is little to be enned, whose patriotism 
would not gain foree upon the plain of Marathon^ or whoee 
piety would not grow wanner among the mine of limA.-*^. 
Jokngon. 



PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 163 

P. 164, 1. 20. 
And watch and weep in Eloisa's cell. 
The Paraclete, founded by Abelard, in Champagne. 

P. 164, 1. 21. 
'Twas ever thus. Young Ammon, when he sought. 

Alexander, when he crossed the Hellespont, was in the 
twenty-second year of his age ; apd with what feelings must 
the scholar of Aristotle have approached the ground de- 
scribed by Homer in that poem which had been his delight 
from his childhood, and which records the achievements of 
him from whom he claimed his- descent ! 

It was his fancy, if we may believe tradition, to take the 
tiller from Menoetius, and be himself the steersman during 
the passage. It was his fancy also to be the first to land, and 
to land full-aimed.— -^^rrian, k 11. 

P. 164, 1. 27. 

As now at Yiigil's tomb. 

Vows and pilgrimages are not peculiar to the religious «!• 

thusiast. Silius Italicus performed annual ceremoiues on the 

mountain of Posilipo; and it was there that Boocaccio, quati 

da un divino estro inspirato, resolved to dedicate his life to 

the muses. 

P. 165, 1. 1. 

 

So TuUy paused amid the wrecks of time. 

When Cicero was quvstor ia Sicily, he diseoverad tiie tomb 

of Arcbimedea by its mathematical inscription. — Tutc. 

Quasi, V. 3. 

P. 165, 1. 16. 

Say why the pensive widow loves to. weepi 
The influence of the associating principle is finely eoram- 
pltfied in the faithful Penelope, when she sheds tea» oyer 
the bow of Ulysses.— Orf. xxi. 6b. 



164 NOTES TO 

P. 166, 1. 3. 
If chance he hean the song so sweetly wild. 
The celebrated Ranz des Yaches; cet air si ch^ri des 
Suisses qu'il fut d^fendu sous peine de mort de la joner dans 
leurs troupes, parce qu'il faisoit fondre en larmes, deserter ou 
mourir ceux qui I'entendoient, tant il excitoit en eux I'ardent 
d^sir de reroir leur pays. — Rotaseau. 

The maladie de pays is as old as the human heart. Jutk- 
hal'A little- cup-bearer 

Suspirat longo non visam tempore matremi 
Et casulom, et notos tristis desiderat haedos. 

And the Argive, in the heat of battle, 

Dulces moriens reminiscitur Argos. 

P. 166, 1. 8. 
Say why Vespasian loved his Sabine fium. 

This emperor, according to Suetonius, constantly passed 
the summer in a small villa near Reate, where he was bom, 
and to which he would never add any embellishment; ne 
^uid icilieet octUorum consuetudini deperirtt, — Suet, in Vit, 
Vup, cap. ii. 

A similar instance occurs in the life of the venerable Per^ 
tinaz, as related by J. Capitolinus. Posteaquam in Liguriam 
venit, multis agris coemptis, tabemam patemam^ manente 
formd priore, infinitis SBdificiis circumdedit — Hist^AttguBt, 64. 
. And it is said of Cardinal Richelieu, that, when he built 
hif magnificent palace on the site of the old family chateau 
at Radielieu, he sacrificed its syaunetry to preserve the room 
in which he was bom. — Man. de MUe. de MontpentieTf i. 27. 
- An attachment of this nature is generally the characterise 
tie of a benevolMit mind j and a long acquaintance with the 
world cannot always extingnish it. 

•* To a iriend«" says John, Duke of Buckingham, *< I will 
expose my weakness : I am oftener missing a pretty gallery 



PLEASURES or ICIMORT. 165 

in the old house I pulled down, than pleased with a saloon 
which I built in its stead, though a thousand times better in 
all respects."— See his Letter to the D, qf Sh. 

This is the language of the heart; and will remind the 
reader of that good-humoured remark in one of Pope's let- 
ters — " I should hardly care to have an old post pulled up, 
that I remembered ever since I was a child.*' 

The author of Telemachus has illustrated this subject, 
with equal fancy and feeling, in the story of Alible, Persan. 

• P. 166, 1. 9. 

Why great Navarre, Sec. 
That amiable and accomplished monarch, Henry the 
Fourth of France, made an excursion from his camp, during 
the long siege of Laon, to dine at a house in the forest of Fo- 
lambray ; where he had often been regaled, when a boy, with 
fruit, milk, and new cheese; and in revisitiDg which he 
promised himself great pleasure. — Mim. de Sully. 

P. 166,1. 11. 

When Diocletian's self-corrected mind. 
Diocletian retired into his native province, and there 
amused himself with building, planting, and gardening. His 
answer to Maximian is deservedly celebrated. ** If," said he, 
" I could show him the cabbages which I have planted with 
my own hands at Salona, he would no longer solicit me to 
return to a throne." 

P. 166, 1. 16. 

Say, when contentious Charles, ftc. 
When the emperor, Charles the Fifth, had executed his 
memorable resolution, and had set out for the monastery of St. 
Just^, he stopt a few days at Ghent to indulge that tender 
and pleasant melancholy, which arises in the mind of every 
man in the decline of life, on visiting the place of his birth, 
and the objects familiar to him in his early youth. 



166 PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 

P. 166, 1. 16. 
To muse with monks, &c. 
Monjes Bolitarios del glorioso padre San Geronimo, says 
Sandova. 

In a corner of the convent garden there is this inscription: 
£n esta santa casa de S. Geronimo de Just6 se retinS k acahar 
su vida Carlos V. Emperador, &c. — P(mz, 

P. 167, 1. 11. 
Then did his hone the homeward track descry. 
The memory of the horse forms the ground-work of a 
pleasing little romance entitled, *< Lui du Palefroi vair."—- See 
Fabliaux du XII. Siecle, 

Ariosto likewise introduces it in a passage full of truth and 
nature. When Bayardo meets Angelica in the forest 
Va mansueto a la Donzella, 

Ch'in Albracca il serria gia di sua mano.— Ortondo Furiow^. 75. 

P. 168,1. 11. 
Sweet bird ! thy truth shall I^utrlem's walls attest. 

During the siege of Haarlem, when that city was reduced 
to the last extremity, and on. the point of opening its gates to 
a base and barbarous enemy, a design was formed to relieve 
it ; and the intelligence was conveyed to the citizens by a 
letter which was tied under the wing of a pigeon. — Thuanus, 
lib. Iv. c. 5. 

The same messenger was employed at the siege of Mutina, 
as we are informed by the elder Pliny. — HUt, Nat, x. 37. 

P. 168, 1. 20. 
Hark ! the bee, &c. 
This little animal, from the extreme convexity of her eye, 
cannot sec many inches before her 



THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 

PART II. 



ANALYSIS. 

^ The memoiy has hitherto acted only in subservience to 
the senses, and so far man is not eminently distinguished 
from other animals : hut with respect to man, she has a higher 
province; and is often husily employed when excited by 
no external cause whatever. She preserves, for his use, the 
treasures of art and science, history and philosophy. She 
eolours all the prospects of life ; for we can only anticipate 
the future, by concluding what is possible from what is past* 
On her agency depends every effusion of the fancy, who 
with the boldest effort can only compound or transpose, aug- 
ment or diminish the materials which she has collected. 

When the first emotions of despair have subsided, and sor- 
row has softened into melancholy, she amuses with a retro- 
spect of innocent pleasures, and inspires that noble confidence 
which results from the consciousness of having acted well. 
When sleep has suspended the organs of sense from their of- 
fice, she not only supplies the mind with images, but assists 
in their combination. And even in madness itself, when the 
soul is resigned over to the tyranny of a distempered imagi- 
nation, she revives past perceptions, and awakens that train 
of thought which was formerly most familiar. 

Nor are we pleased only with a review of the brighter 
passages of life. Events, the most distressing in their imme- 

167 



168 PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 

diftte consequences, are often cherished in remembrance with 
a degree of enthusiasm. 

But the world and its occupations give a ilie^aBical im- 
pulse to the passions, which is not very favourable to the in- 
dulgence of this feeling. It is in a calm and well-regulated 
mind that the memory is most perfect ; and solitude is her 
best sphere of action. With this sentiment is introduced a 
tale, illustrative of her influence in solitude, sickness, and 
sorrow; and the subject having now been considered, so far 
as it relates to man and the animal world, the poem con- 
cludes with a conjecture that superior beings are blest with 
a nobler exercise of this faculty. 



THE 

PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 
PART n. 



Dele cose custode, e dispensien. — Taaso, 

Swsrr McMORT, wafted by thy gentle gale, 
Oft up the stream of time I turn my sail, 
To view the fairy haunts of long-lost hours, 
Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flowers. 

Ages and climes remote to thee impart 
What charms in genius, and refines in art ; 
Thee, in whose hand the keys of science dwell. 
The pensive portress of her holy cell ; 
Whose constant vigils chase the chilling damp 
Oblivion steals upon her vestal lamp. 

They in their glorious course the guides of youth. 
Whose language breathed the eloquence of truth; 
Whose life, beyond perceptive wisdom, taught 
The great in conduct and the pure in thought ; 
These still exist, by thee to fame consignM, 
Still speak and act the models of mankind. 

15 169 



170 THE PLBA8URB8 

From thee gay hope her airy colouring draws ; 
And fancy's flights are subject to thy laws. 
From thee that bosom-spring of rapture flows. 
Which only virtue, tranquil virtue, knows. 

When joy's bright sua h&s shed his evening ray, 
And hope's delusive meteors cease to play ; 
When clouds on clouds the smiling prospect close, 
Still through the gloom thy star serenely glows ; 
Like yon fair orb, she gilds the brow of night 
With the mild magic of reflected light. 

The beauteous maid, who bids the world adieu. 

Oft of that world will snatch a fond, reyiew ; 

Oft at the shrine neglect her beads^ to trace 
Some social scene, some dear, familiar face : 
And ere, with iron tongue, the vesper bell 
Bursts through the cypress-walk, the c6nvent cell, 
Oft will her warm and way ward heart revive. 
To love and joy still tremblingly alive ; 
The whisper'd vow, the chaste caress prolong. 
Weave the light dance, and swell the choral song ; 
With rapt ear drink th' enchanting serenade, 
And, as it melts along the moonlight glade. 
To each soft note return as soft a sigh. 
And bless the youth that bids her slumbers fly. 

But not till time has calm'd the ruffled breast 
Are these fond dreams of happiness confest 



or MEMORY. ITI 

Not till tiie rushing winds forget to rave, 

Is heaven's sweet smile reflected on the wave. 

From Guinea's coast pursue the lessening sail, 
And catch the sounds that sadden every gale. 
Tell, if thou canst, the sum of sorrows there ; 
Mark the fixM gaze, the wild and frenzied glare. 
The racks of thought, and freezings of despair ! 
But pause not then— heyond the western wave. 
Go, see the captive bartered as a slave ! 
Crush'd till his high, heroic spirit bleeds, 
And from his nerveless frame indignantly recedes. 

Yet here, e'en here, with pleasures long resign'd, 
Lo ! Memory bursts the twilight of the mind. 
Her dear delusions soothe his sinking soul, 
When the rude scourge assumes its base control ; 
And o'er futurity's blank page diffuse 
The full reflection of her vivid hues. 
'Tis but to die, and then, to weep no more. 
Then will he wake on Congo's distant shore ; 
Beneath his plantain's ancient shade renew 
The simple transports that with freedom flew ; 
Catch the cool breeze that musky evening blows. 
And quaff the palm's rich nectar as it glows ; 
The oral tale of elder time rehearse. 
And chant the rude, traditionary verse 
With thoae, the loved companions of his youth. 
When life was luxury, and friendship truth. 



173 THK PLEASURKS 

Ah ! why should yirtae fear the frowns of fete 1 
Hers what no wealth can buy, no power create ! 
A little world of clear and cloudless day, 
Nor wreck'd by storms, nor moulderM by decay ; 
A world with Mbbtort's ceaseless sunshine blest. 
The home of happiness, an honest breast. 

But most we mark the wonders of her reign. 
When sleep has lock'd the senses in her chain. 
When sober judgment has his throne resign'd. 
She smiles away the chaos of the mind ; 
And, as warm fancy's bright £lysium glows. 
From her each image springs, each colour flows. 
She is the sacred guest ! th' immortal friend ! 
Oft seen o'er sleeping innocence to bend, 
In that dead hour of night to silence given. 
Whispering seraphic visions of her heayen. 

When the blithe son of Savoy, journeying round 
With humble wares and pipe of merry sound. 
From his green vale and shelterM cabin hies, 
And scales the Alps to visit foreign skies ; 
Though far below the forked lightnings play. 
And at his feet the thunder dies away, 
Oft, in the saddle rudely rock'd to sleep, 
While his mule browses on the dizzy steep, 
With Memory's aid, he sits at home, and sees 
His children sport beneath their native trees, 
And bends to hear their cherub voices tsall, 
O'er the loud fury of the tonent's fall. 



or MBMORT. 173 

But esH her smile with gloomy madness dwell 1 
Say, can she chase the horrors of his cell ? 
Each fiery flight on frenzy's wing restrain. 
And mould the coinage of the feyer'd brain % 

Pass but that grate, which scarce a gleam sup- 
plies. 
There in the dqst the wreck of genius lies ! 
He whose arresting hand divinely wrought 
Each bold conception in the sphere of thought ; 
And round, in colours of the rainbow, threw 
Forms erer fair, creations ever new ! 
But, as he fondly snatch'd the wreath of fame. 
The spectre poTerty unnerved his frame. 
Cold was her grasp, ^ withering scowl she wore ; 
And hope's soft energies were felt no. more. 
Yet still how sweet the soothings of his art ! 
From the rude wall what bright ideas start ! 
E'en now he claims the amaranthine ^eath, 
With scenes that glow, with images that breathe ! 
And whence these scenes, these images, declare. 
Whence but from her who triumphs o'er despair 1 

Awake, arise ! with grateful fervour fraught. 
Go spring the mine of elevating thought. 
He, who, through nature's various walks, surveys 
The good and fair her faultless line portrays ; 
Whose mind, profaned by no unhallow'd guest. 
Culls from the crowd the purest and the best ; - 

16* 



174 THE PLEASURES 

May range, at will, bright fancy's golden clime, 

Or, musing, mount where science sits sublime. 

Or wake the spirit of departed time. 

Who acts thus wisely, mark the moral muse, 

A blooming Eden in his life reviews ! 

So rich the culture, though so small the space, 

Its scanty limits he forgets to trace. 

But the fond fool, when evening shades the sky. 

Turns but to start, and gazes but to sigh ! 

The weary waste, that lengthened as he ran. 

Fades to a blank, and dwindles to a span. 

Ah ! who can tell the triumphs of the mind. 
By truth illumined, and by taste refined 1 
When age has quench*d the eye, and closed the ear. 
Still nerved for action in her native sphere. 
Oft will she rise — with searching glance pursue 
Some long-loved image vanish'd from her view ; 
Dart through the deep recesses of the past, 
O'er dusky forms in chains of slumber cast ; 
With giant grasp fling^back the folds of night. 
And snatch the faithless fugitive to ligtit. 
So through the grove th' impatient mother flies. 
Each sunless glade, each secret pathway tries ; 
Till the thin leaves the truant boy disclose. 
Long on the wood-moss stretched in 6w«et repose. 

Nor yet to pleasing objects are confined 
The silent feasts of the reflecting mind. 



OF MEMORY. 175 

Danger and death a dread delight inspire ; 
And the bald veteran glows with wonted fire, 
When' richly bronzed by many a summer sun, 
He counts his scars, and tells what deeds were done. 

Go, with old Thames, view Chelsea's glorious pile; 
And ask the shatter'd hero whence his smile ? 
Go, view the splendid domes of Greenwich — go. 
And own what raptures from reflection flow. 

« 

Hail, noblest structures imaged in the wave ! 
A nation's grateful tribute to the brave. 
Hail, blest retreats from war and shipwreck, hail ! 
That oft arrest the wondering stranger's* sail. 
Long have ye heard the narratives of age, 
The battle's havoc, and the tempest's rage ; ' 
Long have ye known reflection's genial ray 
Gild the calm close of valour's various day. 

Time^l aombrous touches soon eoirect the piece, 
Mellow each tint, and bid each discord cease : 
A softer tone of light pervades the whole. 
And steals a pensive languor o'er the soul. 

Hast thou through Eden's wild-wood vales pnrsaeA 
Each mottfitain scene, majestically rude ; 
To note the sweet simplicity of life. 
Far from the din of folly's idle strife ; 
Nor theve a while, widi lifted eye, leVered • 

That modest stone which piouftf^MBMoxB rettr'd ; 



M 



176 THE P|*BA8URK8 

Which still records, beyond the pencil's power^ 
The silent sorrows of a parting hour ; 
Still to the musing pilgrim points the place* 
Her sainted spirit most delights to triEUse 1 

Thus, with the manly glow of honest pride, 
0*er his dead son the gallant Ormond sigh'd. 
Thus, through the gloom of Shenstoiob's fairy 

grove, 
Maria's urn still breathes the voice of love. 

As the stem grmideur of a Gothic tower 
Awes us less deeply in its morping hour, 
llian when the shades of time serenely Ml 
On every broken arch 4nd ivied wall ; 
The trader images we love to trace, 
Steal from each year ^ melancholy grace ! 
And as the sparjcs of social love expand, 
As the heart opens in a foreign land ; 
And with a brother's warmth, a brother's smile. 
The stranger greets each native of his isle ; 
So scenes of life, when present and confess'd. 
Stamp but their bolder features on the breast ; 
Yet not an image, when remotely view'd. 
However trivial, and however rt|de. 
But wins the heart, and wakes the social sig^, , 
With every claim of close affinity ! 

But these pure joys the world can never know; 
In gentler climea tUflr silver currents flow. 



OP MEMORY. ' 177 

Oft at tbe silent, shadowy close of day. 

When the hushM groye has sung^ its parting lay ; 

When pensive twilight, in her dusky car, 

Comes slowly on to meet the eyening star : 

Above, below, aerial murmurs swell. 

From hanging wood, brown heatli, and bushy dell ! 

A thousand nameless rills, that shun the light, 

Stealing soft music on the ear of night. 

So oft l^e finer movements of the soul. 

That shun the sphere of pleasure's gay control. 

In the still shades of calm seclusion rise. 

And breathe their sweet, seraphic harmonies ! 

Once, and domestic annals tell the time, 
(Preserved in Cambria's rude, romantic dime,) 
When nature smiled, and o'er the landscape threw 
Her richest fragrance, and her brightest hue, 
A blithe and blooming forester explored 
Those loftier scenes Salvator's soul adored ; 
The rocky pass hatf hung with shaggy wood. 
And the cleft oak flung boldly o'er the ilood ; 
Nor shunn'd the track, unknown to human tread. 
That downward to the night of caverns led ; 
Some ancient cataract's deserted bed. 

High on exalting wing the heath-cock rose. 
And blew his shrill blast o'er perennial snows ; 
Ere the rapt youth, recoiling from the roar, 
Gazed on the tumbling tide of dread Lodore ; 



17S THE PLCABURES 

And through the rifted cliffs that scaled the sky, 
Derweqt's clear mirror charmM his daaoledeye. 
EJach osier isle, inyerted on the wave. 
Through morn's gray mist its melting eoloun gave ; 
And, o'er the cygnet's haunt, the mantling grove 
It9 emerald aroh with wild luxuriance wove. 

Light as the breeze that brush'd the orient dew. 
From rock to rock the young adventurer flew ; 
And day's last sunshine slept along the shore, 
When, lo ! a path the smile of welcome wore. 
Embowering shrubs with verdure veil'd the sky, 
And on the musk-rose shed a deeper dye ; 
Save when a bright and momentary gleam 
Glanced from the white foam of son^e shelter'd 
eitream^ 

O'er the still lake the bell of evening toll'd. 
And on the moor the shepherd penn'd his fold ; 
And on the green hill's side the meteor play'd ; 
When, l^ark ! a voice sung sweetly through the shade. 
It ceased— -yet still in Florio*s fancy sung. 
Still on each note his captive spirit hung ; 
Till o'er the mead* a cool sequester'd grot 
From its rich roof a sparry lustre shot. 
A crystal wat^ cross'd the pebbled floor. 
And on the front these simple lines it bore i-^ 

Hence away, nor dare intrude I 
In this secret shadowy cell 



or MEMORT. 179 

Muing-MsMORT loves to dwell. 
With her sister Solitude. 
Far from the busy world she flies, 
To taste that peace the world disnies. 
Entranced she sits ; from youth to age, 
Reviewing life's eventful page ; 
And noting, ere they fade away. 
The little lines of yesterday. 

Flobio hM gained a rude and rocky seat^ 
When lo, the genius of this still retreat ! 
Fair was her form— but who can hope to trace 
The pensive softness of her angel face 1 
Can Yiroil's verse, can Raphael's touch impart 
Those finer features of the feeling, heart. 
Those tenderer tints.that shun the careless eye. 
And in the world's contagious climate die ! 

She left the cave, nor mark'd the stranger there ; 
Her pastoral beauty, and her artless air 
Had breathed a soft enchantment o'er his soul ! 
In etrery nerve he felt her blest control ! 
What pure and white-winged agents of the sky. 
Who rule the springs of sacred sympathy. 
Inform congenial spirits when they meet 1 
Sweet is their office, as their natures sweet ! 

Flobio, with fearful joy, pursued the maid. 
Till through a vista's moonlight-cheeker'd shade. 



iSO THE PLEASURES 

Where the bat circled, and the rooks reposed, 
(Their wars suspended, and their councils cloied,) 
An antique mansion barst in awful state, 
A rich vine clustering round the Gothic gate. 
Nor paused he there. The master of the scene 
Saw his light step imprint the dewy green ; 
And, slow adyancing, hailM him as his guest, 
Won by the honest warmth his looks fficpreasM. 
He wore the rustic manners of a squire ; 
Age had not quench'd one spark of manly fire ; 
But giant gout had bound him in her chain. 
And his heart panted for the chase in TBdn. 

Yet here^ remembrance, sweetiynBoothing power ! 
WingM with delight confinemetit's lingering hour. 
The fox*s brush still emulous to wear, 
He scourM the county in his elbow-chair ; 
And with view-halloo, roused the dreaming hound, 
That rung, by starts, his deep-Umed music round. ( 

Long by the paddock's humble pale confined. 
His aged hunters coursed the viewless wind : 
And each, with glowing energy portray'd. 
The far-famed triumphs of the field displayed, 
UsurpM the canvass of the crowded hall, 
And chased a line of heroes from the wail. 
There slept the horn each jocund echo knew, 
And many a smile and many a stoiy drew ! 
High o^er the hearth his forest tropilies hung. 
And their fantastic branches wildly flung. 



or MEMORY.- IQl 

How would he dwell on the vast antlers ther<e ! 
These dash'd the wave, those fannM the mountain air« 
All, as they frown'd, unwritten records bore 
Of gallant £sat8 and festivals of yore. 

But why the tale prolong 1 — His only dhild» 
His darling Julia, on the stranger smiled. 
Her little arts a fretful sire to please 
Her gentle gayety, and native ease 
Had won his soul ; and rapturous fancy shed 
Her golden lights, and tints of rosy red ; 
But ah ! few days had pass'd, ere the bright vision llfid I 

When evening tinged the lake's ethereal blua, 
And her deep shades inegularly threw ; 
Their shifting sail dropt gently from the cove, 
Down by St. Herbert's consecrated grove ; 
Whence erst the chanted hymn, the taperM ritOt 
Amused the fisher's solitary night : 
And still the mitred window, richly wreath'd, 
A sacred calm through the brown foUage breathed. 

The wild deer, starting through the sileut glade, 
With fearful gaze their various course survey'd. 
High hung in air the hoary goat reclined. 
His streaming beard the sport of every wind ; 
And, while the coot her jet-wing loved to lave, 
Rock'd on the bosom of the sleepless wave : 
The eagle rush'd from Skiddaw's purple crest, , 
A cloud still brooding o'er her giant ne.9ft 

16 



« 



1B9 THK PLEASURES ' 

And now the moon had dimmM with dewy ray 
The few fine flushes of departing day. 
0*er the wide' waters deep serene she hung, 
And her broad lights on every mountain flung; 
When, lo ! a sudden blast the vessel blew, 
And to the surge consigned the little crew. 
All, all escaped — ^but ere the lover bore 
His faint and faded Julia to the shore, 
Her sense had fled ! — Exhausted by the storm, 
A fatal trance hung oVr her pallid form ; 
Her closing eye a trembling lustre fired ; 
Twas life's last spark— it flutter'd and expired ! 

The father strewM his white hairs in the wind, 
CalPd on his child — ^nor lingerM long behind ; 
And Florio lived to see the willow wave. 
With many an evening whisper, o'er their grave. 
Yes, Florio lived — and, still of each possess'd. 
The father cherishM, and the maid caress'd ! 

For ever would the fond enthusiast rove, 
With Julia's spirit, through the shadowy grove : 
Gaze with delight on every scene she plann'd, 
Kiss every floweret planted by her hand. 
Ah ! still he traced her steps along the glade, 
When hazy hues and glimmering lights betrayV. 
Half-viewless forms ; still listened as the breez< 
Heaved its deep sobs among the aged trees ; 
And at each pause her melting accents caught, 
In sweet delirium of romantic thought ! 



or MBMORT. %$$ 

Dear was tbe grot that shunn'd tbe blase of day ; 
She gave its spare to shoot a trembling ray. 
The sprmg, that babbled from its imnest cell, 
Murmor'd of Julia's yirtues as it fell; 
And o'er the dripping moss, the fretted stone 
In Florio's ear breathed language not-ita own. 
Her charm around th' enchantress Memory threw, 
A charm that soothes the mind, and sweetens too I 

But is her magic only felt below ! 
Say, through what brighter realms she bids it flow ; 
To what pure beings in a nobler sphere. 
She yields delight but faintly imaged here: 
All that till now their rapt researches knew, 
Not call'd in slow succesnon to roTiew ; 
But, as a landscape meets tiie eye of day, 
At once presented to their glad suFFcy ! 

Each scene of bliss reveal'd, einee chaos fled, 
And dawning light its dazzling glories spread ; 
Each chain of wondera that sublimely glow'd. 
Since first creation's choral anthem flow'd ; 
Each ready flight, at mercy's call divine, 
To distant worlds that undiscover'd «hine ; 
Full on her tablet flings its Kying rays, 
And all, combined, with blest efiiilgenoe blase* 

There thy bright train, imm<Nrtal friendship, aoar; 
No more to part, to mingle teare no more] 



i8t THC rLBASUnCB 

Andy as the softening hand of time endears 

The joys and sorrows of onr infant years^ 

So there &e sonl, rdeased ftom human strife, 

Smiles at the little cares and ills of life; 

Its lights and shades, its sunshine and its showers ; 

As at a dteam that charm'd her vacant hours ! 

Oft mmy the spirits of the dead descend 
To watch the silent slumbers of a friend ; 
To hover round his evening walk unseen, 
And hold sweet converse on the dusky green ; 
To hail the spot where once their friendship grew. 
And heaven and nature opened to their view ! 
Oft, when he trims his cheerful hearth, and sees 
A smiling circle emulous to please ; 
There may these gentle guests delight to dwell. 
And bless the scene they loved in life so well \ 

4 

O thou ! with whom my heart was won't to share 
From reason's dawn each pleasure and each eare ; 
With whom, alas ! I fondly hoped to know 
The humble walks of happiness below; 
If thy blest nature now unites above 
An angel's pity with a brother's love. 
Still o'er my lif^ preserve thy mild control. 
Correct tny views, and elevate my soul ; 
Grant me thy peace and purity^of mind, 
D«¥^t yet cheerful, active yet resign'd ; 
Grant me, like diee, whose heart knew no disguise, 
Whose blameless wishes never aim'd to rise, 



or MEMORY. 185 

To meet the changes time and chance present, 
With modest dignity and calm content. 
When thy last breath, ere nature sunk to rest, 
Thy meek submission to thy God expressM ; 
When thy last look, ere thought and feeling fled, 
A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed ; 
What to thy soul its glad assurance gave, 
Its hope in death, its triumph o^er the grave ! 
The sweet remembrance of unblemishM youth. 
The still inspiring voice of innocence and truth . 

Hail, Memory, hail ! in thy exhaustless mine 
From age to age unnumberM treasures shine ! 
Thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey. 
And place and time are subject to thy sway ! 
Thy pleasures most we feel when most alone ; 
The only pleasures we can call our own. 
Lighter than air, hope^s summer visions die. 
If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky ; 
If but a beam of sober reason play, 
Lo, ianey'e fairy frost-work melts away ! 
But can the wiles of art, the grasp of power. 
Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour T 
These, when the trembling spirit wings her flight. 
Pour round her path a stream of living light ; 
And gild those pure and perfect realms of rest. 
Where virtue triumphs, and her sons are blest ! 

16* 



NOTES 

TO 

PLEASURES OP MEMORY. 
PART IL 



P. 169, 1. 16. 
These still exist, &c. 

There is a future existence even in this world, an exist* 
ence in the hearts and minds of those who shall live after at. 
It is in reserve for every man, however obscure ; and his 
portion, if he he diligent, must be equal to his desires. For 
in whose remembrance can we wish to hold a place, but 
such as know, and are known by us } These are within the 
sphere of our influence, and among tbe9e and their descend* 
ants we may live for evennore.' 

It is a .state of rewards and punishments) and, like that 
revealed to na ta the gospel, has the liappiest influeaee o» 
our lives. The latter excites us to gain the favour of Gap,; 
the former, to gain the love and esteem of wise and good 
men; and both lead to the same end; for in framing oar 
conceptions of the Dert, we only ascribe to Him exalted 
degrees of wisdom and goodness. 

P. 173, 1. 16w 
Tet still how sweet the soothiogs of his art ! 
The astronomer chalking his figures on the wall, in Ho- 
garth's view of Bedlam, is an admirable exemplification o 
this idea. — See The Rake*9 Process, plate 8. 

186 



PLfiABITRKS OF MIMORT. .187 

P. 174, 1. 9. 

Tunu but to start, and gases but to sigh. 
The following stanzas are said to have been written on a 
blank leaf of this poem. They present so affecting a reverse 
of the picture, that I cannot resist the opportunity of intro- 
ducing them here. 

Plettniree of Memoiy !--0 ! mpromely bleM, 
And justly proud beyond a poet's praise, 

If the pure confines of thy tranquil breast 
Contain, indeed, the subject of thy lays! 
By me how envied t^-lbr to me, 
The herald still of misery, 
Memory makes her influence known 
By sighs, and tears, and ^ef alone: 

I greet her as the fiend, to whom beloi^ 

The vulture^ ravening beak, the raven's fimaral.song« 

She tells of time mispent, of comfort lost. 

Of fidr occasions gone for ever by ; 
Of hopes too fondly nuned, too rudely cross'd ; 
Of many a cause to vrish, yet fear to die; 

For what, except th' instinctive feer 

Lest she survive, detains me here. 

When *< all the life of life" is fled ?— 

What, but the deep, inherent dread, 
Lest she beyond the grave resume her reign. 
And rsallae the hell that priests and beldames Mgn f 

P. 176, 1. 21. 
Hast thou through Eden's wild-wood vales pursued. 
On the roadside between Penrith and Appleby, there 
stands a small pillar with this inscription ; 

*■ This pillar was erected in the year 1656, by Ann Countess- 
dowager of Pembroke, &c. for a memorial of her last parting, 
in this place, with her good and pious mother, Margaret 
Countess-dowager of Cumberland, on the 2d of April, 1616 $ 
in memory whereof she hath left an annuity of 42. to be dis- 



188 PLEA8URB8 OF MBM0R7. 

tributed to the poor of the parish of Brougham, every Sd 
day of April for ever, upon the stone table placed hard by. 
Laus Deo !*' 

The Eden is the principal river of Cumberland, and rises 
in the wildest part of Westmoreland. 

P. 176, 1. 6. 
O'er his deed son the gallant Onnond sigh'd. 
" I would not exchange my dead son,*' said he, ** for any 
living son in Christendom." — Hume. 

The same sentiment is inscribed on an urn at the Leasowes. 
** Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari, quam tui me- 
mlnisse !" 

P. 181, 1. 15. 

Down b7 St. Herbert's consecrated grove. 

A small island covered with trees, among which were for- 
merly the ruins of a religious house. 

P. 182, 1. 6. 
When, lo t a sudden blast the vessel blew. 

In a mountain lake the agitations are often violent and 
momentary. The winds blow in gusts and eddies ; and the 
water no sooner swells, than it subsides.— 4See Boum*8 Hiii, 

P. 183, L 11. 
To what pure beings in a nobler sphere. 

The several degrees of angels may probably have larger 
views, and some of them be endowed with capacities able 
to retain together, and constantly set before them, as in one 
picture, all their past knowledge at once. — Locke. 



CAMPBELL'S 

PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

IN TWO PARTS. 



189 



MEMOIR 



OF 



THOMAS CAMPBELL. 



The city of Glasgow has the honour of haying 
giren hirth to the bard of Hope. Thomas Campbell 
was bom there in the year 1777. He was the son of 
a second marriage. His father, who was bom in the 
reign of Queen Anne, was sixty-seven years of age at 
the time of the poet's birth. The early education of 
young Campbell was intrusted to Dr. David Alison, 
a gentleman, whose reputation as a teacher of youth, 
stood deservedly high in Glasgow, a city eminent 
then, as it has ever since been, for the excellence of 
its seminaries and the talents of its teachers. 

Campbell, like Pope, ** lisped in numbers." There 
are yet in possession of some of his friends in Scot- 
land, verses written by him at the age of nine years. 
They are, no doubt, sufficiently childish; but they show 
at what an early age he received visits from the muse. 
At the age of twelve, he was placed at the University 
of Glasgow, where he soon, with a precocity of ambi- 
tion as well as talent, became a candidate for the coUe- 

191 



193 MEMOIR OF CAMPBELL. 

giate annuity, conferred on successfal competitors for 
superiority in the classical languages, called a bursary. 
Campbell carried off the prize from an opponent twice 
his age. ' He was indeed extremely industrious ; and 
his ambitious exertions were at once stimulated and 
rewarded by the obtaining of a variety of prizes in the 
contests for classical eminence, prescribed to the stu- 
dents at the Glasgow UniFerstty. In Greek he was 
an early proficient, and some of the translations from 
that language, which he made as collegiate exercises, 
are to be ranked among the best that have yet ap- 
peared in our language. It was from Dr. Millar, the 
eminent lecturer on moral philosophy, in GlasgoWi 
that Campbell acquired his correct habit of analyzar 
tion, and the taste for abstract speculation so observa- 
ble in his best poems. 

At about eighteen, Campbell left Glasgow to under- 
take the duties of a private teacher in a family of 
distinction in Argyleshire. Amidst the wild scenery 
which surrounded his new residence, his poetic ener- 
gies greatly increased, and it was there that he com* 
pleted some, and planned others, of his most popular 
productions. 

From Argyleshire, Campbell removed to Edinburghr 
where at the age of twenty-one* he appeared in fulf 
poetical blaze before the world in his first and best pvflf 
duction, " The Pleasures of Hope." Several of the 
booksellers to whom the manuscript of this celebrat^ 
poem was offered, with that species of sagacity whic^ 
so often chatacteriz^s the (rafle) in ^^jr e^ti^iate of f)^ 



MEMOIR OF CAMPBELL. 193 

value of works offered to them by miknown authofS, tB" 
fused to publish it without a guarantee for the expense. 
The author was too poor for his own graarantee to be 
taken, and too modest to solicit that of any other per- 
son. He happened, howerer, at this juncture to show 
his manuscript to a gentleman of true benevolence, and 
of well-known taste and discernment in poetical litera- 
ture. This was Dr. Robert Anderson, the editor of an 
excellent series of the Lives of the British Poets, with 
a Yoluminous edition of their works. This gentleman 
at once perceived the uncommon excellence of the 
poetry contained in the rejected manuscript. There 
were many exuberant passages in it, however, which, 
at his recommendation, the young poet judiciously 
expunged; and many others were modified and no 
doubt improved at the suggestion of the friendly critie. 
The work, thus carefully revised, Dr. Anderson, to 
whom the author very gratefully inscribed it, not only 
caused it to be published, but by glowing eulogiums in 
several of the Edinburgh journals, so recommended 
it to the public, that its merits became speedily known, 
and tbe fame of the poet was at once established. 
Campbell, however, in his anxiety to remove every 
obstacle that stood in the way of the publication, had 
disposed of the copyright for ten pounds ; and this 
small sum was all the direct remuneration which he 
at first received, for a work which brought for twenty 
years to the publishers a profit of nearly three hundred 
pounds a year. It is said, indeed, that afterwards a 
0mall additional sum and the profit of the fourth edi- 

17 



194 MKMOIB OF CAMPBELL* 

tion were awarded him. His pecuniary circumstances 
were at this time very unpromising, and he was, as 
may be supposed, in no very good humour with the 
booksellers. It is related, that on a festive occasion 
he vented his spleen against them, at the apparent 
expense of his patriotism. The character- and conduct 
of Napoleon was, at the time, generally disliked in 
Britain. The poet was called on for a toast. To the 
astonishment of the company, he gave '' Bonaparte." 
An explanation was required. *' Gentlemen,** said he, 
'< I give you Bonaparte in his character of executioner 
of the booksellers.** Palm, the German bookseller, 
had been just executed by command of the first con- 
sul. 

In the year 1800, Campbell went to the continent 
He sailed for Hamburg, and travelled over a great 
part of Germany. He visited the principal of the 
universities, with the view of acquiring the German 
language, and forming an acquaintance with the pro- 
fessors and other literati of those seminaries. He 
happened to be in the vicinity of Hohenlinden at 
the time of the severe contest which took place there 
between the French and Austrian armies. He wit- 
nessed the combat from the walls of a convent, and 
afterwards followed the bloody track of Moreau's 
army over the field of battle. 

In Germany, Campbell became acquainted with 
many literary and political characters of high note, 
among whom were the two celebrated Schlegels, and 
the still more celebrated Klopstock, then far advanced 



MEMOIR OF CAMPBELL. 195 

in the vale of life. He spent rather more than a year 
on the continent, and then for the first time visited 
London. 

While at Hamburg, Campbell wrote his beantifally 
pathetic song, of the ^* Exile of Erin." It was set to 
the national air of ** Erin go bragh," and is worthy of 
being associated with that noble production of Irish 
minstrelsy, which it will accompany to the latest pos- 
terity. He was inspired with the touching strains of 
this song, by witnessing, in the vicinity of his resi- 
dence, the grief of some Irish esiles, who had been 
obliged to leave their country on account of the active 
part they had taken in the rebellion of 1798. 

Soon after his arrival in London, he published his 
three very spirited and popular odes, '< Hohenlinden," 
««The Battle of the Baltic," and ''Ye Mariners of 
England." In 1803, he married a Miss Sinclair, a 
lady of great beauty and accomplishments, with whom 
he lived happily until she died, in 1838. He now 
took a house in the agreeable village of Sydenham, 
where he continued to reside for upwards of sixteen 
years, occupied chiefly in literary avocations. 
V It was shortly after his retirement to the shades of 
Sydenhaun, that Campbell wrote his ''Gertrude of 
Wyoming," which some critics have pronounced, we 
think very erroneously, his best work. It is a prettily 
told tale, in the Spenserian stanza, very tender in some 
of its sentiments, and picturesque in its descriptions. 
But it is frequently languid in its tone, and monoto- 
nonsly pensive. Its scenes are laid amidst the woods 



1^6 MEMOIR OF CAMPBELL. 

am} moantains of Pennsylyania ; yet, although pio- 
iuresque in the abstract, they contain nothing spe- 
cially characteristic of American scenery. On the 
contrary, elf-hannted flower-plats, shepherds j^ay- 
ing on timbrels to dancing maidens, pastoral sav^an- 
nas, and flowery valleys where yoang ladies recUne 
9A noon under the shade of palm trees, reading Shab- 
speare, are certainly what no one eyer witnessed^ or 
need expect ever to witness, in the Wyoming Valley, 
until the climate of Pennsylvania ceases to produce 
venomous reptiles and stinging insects in the summer 
months, and the fierce freezing blasts of the north- 
western winds in those of winter. Instead also of the 
Valley of Wyoming having been the scene of profound 
tranquillity and happiness previous to the revolutionary 
war, which Campbell has imagined, it was by iaa the 
most distracted and unhappy portion of Pennsylvwiia, 
in consequence of the perpetual and often bloody con- 
tests for the sovereignty of the district, carried on be- 
tween the Connecticut settlers and the government of 
the province. If it be said that a poet is not obliged to 
swear to the truth of his song, it may be replied, that 
neither is a reader obliged to yield belief to known false- 
hood, although it be utt^ed in verse. The poet who 
should sing in strains equal to Homer himself, that 
Bonaparte vanquished Wellington at Waterloo, would 
gain few admirers among men of sense. When fiction 
is employed in poetry, it will always be judicious to 
place its scenes where neither history nor topography 
can dissipate the illusion it creates, otherwise the well* 



Memoir of campbcll. 197 

ibfonned reader will be more apt to be offended at 
the large demands made on )iis credulity, than pleased 
with the beauty of the fictions presented to his con- 
templation. But it is not our province in this place 
to criticise this poetical tale. Our design is only to 
rebuke those who, without any support from reason, 
or sanction from the public voice, characterize it as 
a superior production to "The Pleasures of Hope/* 
It is a simple tale, languidly told, full of puling senti- 
ment, false scenery, and improbable incidents; but 
presenting an attractive picture of innocence, virtue, 
and female loveliness in the heroine, and of wild en- 
ergy and fidelity in the untutored, though somewhat 
too philosophical Oneida savage. But where does it 
exhibit Uie energy, the terseness, the variety, the sen- 
tentiousness, and the spirit-stirring appeals to the 
heart, which abound in " The Pleasures of Hope V* 

About the time of the appearance of " Gertrude of 
Wyoming,*' Campbell received the appointment of 
professor of poetry in the Royal Institution, where he 
delivered a course of valuable lectures, which have 
since been published. He also undertook the editing 
of a number of volumes of selections from the British 
poets, 'witii' critical remarks, which indicate much 
acumen in the discovery and analysis of the beauties 
and jdefects of our most popular poets. The style of 
these criticisms, however, has been censured for dis- 
playing an undue fastidiousness in respect to phrase- 
ology, which has occasioned him in many places to 

17* 



199 MEMOIR OF CAMPBELL. 

sacrifice strong and clear sense to the attainment of 
polished and agreeahle expression. 

In 1819, Campbell again visited the continent, and 
spent some time in Vienna, where he was enabled to 
observe the manners and policy of a despotic govern- 
ment, and to contrast their effects on the condition and 
habits of the people, with those which result from the 
free institutions of his own country. The high value 
which such study taught such an ardent friend to 
liberty to place on the latter, may well be imagined. 
He left one of his sons at the University of Bonn, and 
la 1820 returned to England, where he undertook the 
management of the New Monthly Magazine. To this 
work his name was of more value than his contribu- 
tions. Of every thing which he wrote for it, he took 
care that the public should be apprized by the an- 
nouncement of his name. 

In 1824, Campbell published his "Theodric, a 
Domestic Tale ;" the insipidity and flatness of which 
disgusted' the public and astonished the critics. Con- 
sidered as the production of the author of *''nie 
Pleasures of Hope," it furnishes, perhaps, the most 
remarkable instance of the loss of high poetical powers, 
to be found in the history of literature. 

Campbell has the high honour to be regarded, we 
believe justly, as the projector of that noble and tree*' 
fal institcttion, the University of London. Having con- 
ceived the idea, he applied himself with an energy and 
zeal which he had not for many years been accustomed 
to apply to any pursuit, in recommending it to the 



MEMOIR or CAMPBELL. 199 

pablie, until at length he aroused the leading miMk of 
the city, headed by the indefatigable Brougham* to sat 
about accomplishing the undertaking. In such a city 
as London, when once the citizens became convinced 
of the utility of the design, funds for its execution 
could not be long wanting. When Campbell, how* 
eretf saw the business taken hold of by more actire 
asid persevering men than himself, he relapsed into 
his former quiescent habits ; and ccmtenting himsMf 
with occasionally attending committees, left the ma- 
nagement to others whose skill and activity in business 
details exceeded his own. He had the satisfaction, 
however, to see the work go forward with unexam- 
pled rapidity, for in less than three years after he had 
made his project known to the public, the university 
was in full operation. 

The reader of this sketch has thus far seen nothing 
but prosperity attending the career of the poet of 
Hope. This prosperity seemed to have been crowned 
by an event which must have been extremely 
grateful to his feelings ; that of having been elected 
by the students of his Abna Mdter^ the university of 
his native city, the lord rector of that ancient seat ef 
learning, for three successive years, although the 
influence of the professois was exerted against hioh 
and the candidates opposed to him were individuaW 
of no less merit and renown than the minister Caop 
ning and Sir Walter Scott* 

But the life of Mr. Campbell has not passed with- 
out its share of tribulation. He has experienced 



800 MEMOIR OF OAMt'Bl'ttj 

domestic afflictiond of peadliaf d&reiiijt Of hid 
two sons, one died wiien lie wad appfoiidhidg his 
twentieth year, and the fate of the other was still 
more calamitous. He had been left at the University 
of Bonn, as has been already stated. He there in a 
short time exhibited symptoms of insanity, so decided 
as to oblige his father to have him brought to £ng^ 
land, where the disease, although it assumed a milder 
form, became confirmed and incurable. He was for 
some years placed in a lunatic asylum, where^ the 
derangement gradually abating, the unhappy young 
man became altogether harmless, and his father took 
him home. This calamity may well be supposed to 
have been the source of the keenest soflferings to the 
mind of a father constituted like that of Campbell. 

Campbell is of small stature, and slender, but well 
made. His countenance indicates great sensibility, 
and something of distrust or rather fastidiousness in 
regaid to the exercise of his own powers in any under- 
taking. His expression is generally grave ; his eyes 
are large, of a blue colour, and remarkably striking. 
His nose is aquiline, and his hair dark, and he has long 
worn a peruke of the same colour. In the disposition of 
his mind, he has all the irritable characteristics of the 
poet. He is quick in his impulses; but charitable 
and kind. It is said that he indulges in few amuse- 
ments ; the company of a friend and social convert 
sation being the recreations in which he most delights. 



DISSERTATION 



-ON THS 



POEM OF THE PLEASURES OF HOPE. 



" Were it not for Hope, " says the proverb, " the 
heart would break." And thousands and tens of 
thousands of human tteings have, in the midst of ac- 
cumulated misfortunes, felt the truth of the saying. 

But it is not on the minds of the unfortunate alone, 
that Hope exerts her benign influence. They who, in 
possession of youth, health, and joyous spirits, pursue 
the glittering and smiling agents of pleasure, and they 
who, spurred by ambition or avarice, labour in pur- 
suit of power or riches, are alike animated on their 
paths by the universal stimulator to all exertion and 
sweetener of all toil ; precious and consoling Hope. 

To select such a pleasing attribute of the mind, for 
the subject of song, was a happy conception in Camp* 
bell^ and to sing it so well, was an. achievement 
which has gained him immortality. His poem is one 
of those lucky exertions of the Intellect, which have 
occasionally burst upon the world with a fbrce uid 
permanency of splendouri unexpected even by their 

801 



302 DISSERTATION ON THE 

authors, and beyond their power a second time to 
produce. In this particular there is a striking simi* 
larity between the production of " The Pleasures of 
Imagrination'' and *' The Pleasures of Hope.'* They 
were both written in the nonage of their authors, who 
never afterwards produced any work comparable to 
them, although both lived to a mature age, cultivating 
literature and devoted to the muses. The minds of 
these authors, as well as their ages, at the time they 
composed these exquisite poems, seem to have been 
similarly conditioned, and imbued with the same 
species of inspiration. Wanned by the intellectual 
excitements of collegiate studies, and full of admiration 
for the beauties of classical literature and ancient 
poetry, they were prompted to an emulation of what 
they admired ; and although using a dififerent lan- 
guage from the great bards whose fascinating strains 
had won their affections, and animated them for the 
time with powers not their own, they poured into 
that language, thoughts and numbers characteristic of 
the source of their inspiration, and worthy even of the 
bards at whose shrines the fervour of their youthful 
genius had been awakened. Hence the frequent allu- 
sions to Grecian times, to Grecian mythology, to Gre- 
cian history, to Grecian arts, literature, poetry, hero- 
ism, and liberty, with which these poems abound. 
Hence, also, the full-flowing energy and sounding 
harmony of their numbers : for such numbers — ^warm 
with music— could have been produced only by men 



PLEASURES OF QOPE. 903 

wboee soals were rendered mttskal by the meUifluous* 
ness of Grecian song. 

These poeou,— 'Written as they were by students 
whose yiews of natnre and feelings of song were yet 
nncorrapted by the contagion of fashionable theories, 
or the eccentricities of new schools ; and whose gene- 
rous aspirations and youthful ardour were yet un- 
checked and nncooled by the chilling influence of 
worldly experience, — breathe all the freshness of nature 
and the fervour of romance, in straina glowing, po- 
lished, and melodious, as the great classical modela 
whose beauties had inspired them. But after the 
authors of these poems left the inspiring atmo- 
sphere of their colleges, and mingled with the busy 
world, what did they produce answerable to the ex^- 
pectations awakened by the high promise of their 
academical efforts 1 Let the dull odes of Akenside, 
and the whining Gertrude, and the insipid Theodric, 
of Campbell, reply. Their contact with real life may 
not haye impaired their general intellectual powers, 
but it seems to haye blunted their poetical feelings, 
chilled their classical enthusiasm, and rendered them 
too prone to comply with the artificial tastes in poetry 
which happened to be the fashion of the day. It is 
true that the muse of Campbell has occasionally 
exhibited transient and short gleams of her youthful 
brilliancy. But they haye been like the angel yisita 
of which he speaks, "few and far between." Their 
whole amount is comprised in a few lyrical effusions* 
which, although excellent in their kind,, are in regar'' 



QM DlSSKItTATION ON THE 

to our poetical literature, when eompared with <*The 
Pleasures of Hope," utterly insignificant. As lor 
AkenMde, who reads any other of his produetions 
than ** The Pleasures of Imagination ?" 

The topies which Campbell has selected for illus* 
trating the influence of Hope on the happiness of man^ 
are all well adapted to poetry, although some of them 
are defectiTe in strict applicability to the subject, and 
others in philosophical accuracy. Indeed, the extr^ne 
popularity of the poem is owing to the charms of its 
poetry alone ; and such is the power of those charms, 
that no reader of taste and feeling will pause, amidst 
the admiration they excite, to question the appropri- 
ateness of an illustration, the correctness of a meta- 
phor, or the soundness of an inference. The work 
commences with, perhaps, the most brilliant opening 
of any poem extant. This has been said to be injudi- 
cious on the part of the poet, as subjecting him to the 
necessity of maintaining ^roughout the production an 
equal strain of elevation and splendour, or of inflicting 
on the reader the disagreeable sensation of witnessing 
a falling off from the grandeur of such a commence- 
ment. But this censure, however it may impeach the 
prudence of the poet, has no application to the merits 
of the poem ; and on the poet*s behalf, it may be tri- 
umphantly asserted, that dificult as was the achieve- 
ment, the brilliancy of the opening paragraph is well 
sustauned through the whole poem ; the inequalities 
observable in it, being only such as show its beauties 
in greater relief, and render it a more attractive pro- 



PIiBASURBS or HOPE. 906 

daetion than it would be if it ocmsisted of a anifoim 
and unblemished piece of splendour. 

But truly beautiful and popular as this poem is^ it 
has been, by various critics, subjected to much severar 
charges than Ihe one we have just noticed. Its fite» 
quent allusions to Grecian mythology have been stif^. 
matized as the commonplaces of schoolboys in their 
poetical exercises. Such a charge may be brought, 
wi^ equal justice, against the pioductions of the best 
and greatest of our poets. There are none more ob- 
noxious to it than those of the immortal Milton him- 
self. We do not advocate the overloading of English 
poetry with images borrowed from either the fictions 
or the facts of pagan antiquity. But the habit of cer- 
tain critics in passing indiscfiminate censure on all 
who draw poetical embellishments from the classical 
and native land of the muses, we think has been 
carried to an illiberal and overstrained excess. -We 
would not exelude the poet from this, more than 
from any other source of materials for enriehing his 
song. We would leave him here, as elsewhere, to the 
exercise of his own free will, so that, like the bee, he 
might roam at large wherever fancy may lead him, and 
gather sweets from the flowers of whatever field hie 
may choose to explore. If he exceeds disoetion, 
and cloys his readers wiUi too many sweets of the 
same character, he becomes eensurable, ahhougiL 
those sweets may be in themselves as desirabH 
wholesome, and pleasaiit as any that osuM bcipMlrtUy 
extracted from other sources. 

18 



S06 DISSBBTATION ON THE 

This poem has also, like ^^The Pleasures of Memo- 
ry," been subjected to the charge of being too polished 
and laboared in its versifioation. This charge is like 
blaming a lapidary for being too tasteful in the setting 
<^ his gems, or a painter for being too accarate in 
the laying on of his colours. ^'The Pleasures of 
Memory," being a comparatively feeble poein, has had 
its feebleness ascribed, perhaps not altogether jastly, to 
its extreme polish. But there is no feebleness in *' The 
Pleasures of Hope." It is strong with thought ; it is 
strong with expression. Every sentence strikes th^ 
mind with meaning, and every couplet charms the ear 
with music. Whatever care, therefore, has been ex* 
pended in polishing and harmonizing the diction of 
this poem, has not been expended in vain ; and ho 
reader, it is believed, will condemn that labour which 
has been employed so successfully in administering 
to his pleasure. 

It is doubtful, however, whether in the composition 
of this poem, Campbell employed such extreme care 
and labour as has been asserted. He published it 
when he was but twenty-one. He could not, there-' 
fore, have kept it nine years under the file, according 
to the advice of Horace ; and it is certain that there 
are passages of it, which exhibit as much negligence 
as the wannest admiver of inaceuracy could desine; 
la :thci followiAg tines there is not only a nlistatem^^ 
^fl to the place of the evtent mentioned, bat there ift 
mate than one blunder in the language x-^- • 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 907 

" Thus, while Elijah's buniing wheels prepaie 
From Carmers heights to sweep the fields of air. 
The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, 
Droft on the world — a sacred gift to man.' 



91 



The Scriptare informs us, that it was from the 
eastern bank of the Jordan (^posite Jericho, a dis- 
tance of more than seventy miles from Mount Carmel, 
that the translation of Elijah took place. One would 
naturally suppose that the prophet must have been in 
the act of ascending, when his mantle ** dropt on the 
world." Yet the poet says, that it dropt ere his flight 
began, and. while the chariot wheels were preparing 
to ascend. 

There are several obscurities in the poem, whioh 
could have been obviated by very little care on the 
part of the author. We select the two following in- 
stances because the author seems to have been aware 
of them himself, having found it necessary to explain 
each of them in a note. Explanatory notes appended 
to a serious poem, are, at best, but awkward substi- 
tutes for clearness of thought and language. 

«* With Franklin grasp the lightning's fiery wing. 
Or yield the \yw of heaven another string." 

The last line of this couplet, it appears by the ex- 
planatory note, does not, as the reader would suppose, * 
refer to any of Franklin^s electrical discoveries ; but to 
the discovery oftheGeorgiumSidus, or eighth planet, 
by Herschel, which discovery is fantastically enough 
called '* yielding the lyre of heaven another string,' 



208 DISSERTATION ON T It E 

because the ieron. other planets were, amongr the 
Greeks, symbolical of Apollo's harp. 

" Shame to the coward thought that e'er betrayM 
The noou of manhood to a myrtle shade." 

This is very indistinctly explained by quoting a 
line of Dryden :-— 

** Sacred to Venus is the myrtle shade.' 

From the context, we, indeed, with the aid of this 
line, gather the meaning to be an imprecation of shame 
on those who spend the prime of life in the enjoy- 
ments of love, instead of devoting it to the nobler, 
pursuits of genius. 

Such obscurities are certainly blemishes in the 
poem ; and have arisen manifestly from inattention or 
indolence in the author. Instead of censuring him, 
therefore, for too much labour and care in its composi- 
tion, we wish that he had exerted a little more of both, 
so that we might at all times have understood his 
poetry without having recourse to his prose. 

There is one instance of false rhyme— or rather no 
rhyme-^which would appear incompatible with the 
extreme fastidiousness ascribed to the author of this 
poem : — 



Thy darling form shall seem to hover nigh. 
And hush the groan of life's last agoni/." 



As was observed in the notice taken of some simi- 
lar oversights in *♦ The Pleasures of Memory," Eng- 



PLBA8URE8 OF HOPls. 209 

liah rhyme caa never be made of syllables commenc- 
ing with the same consonants. 

Campbell appears to be more justly censurable for 
the frequent irrelevancy of his topics to his main sub- 
ject, and the occasional offences against sound philo- 
sophy in his reasonings, than for superfluous care and 
labour in the composition of his poem. 

An instance of the first is to be found in the ani- 
mated and glowing passage relative to the sufferings 
of Poland, and her gallant but unsuccessful struggles 
against her merciless conquerors. Such a picture of 
hopeless calamity would seem to be rather an ill-chosen 
illastration of the Pleasures of Hope. Yet it is an 
impressive and affecting picture, drawn in the most 
masterly style of poetical colouring, and irrelevant as 
it apparently is, in the position it occupies, no reader 
of good taste or feeling would desire its removal. 
The same may be said of the Libyan and Hindoo 
sufferings, so feelingly described in the first part of 
the poem, and of the apostrophe to love^ and the fine 
eulogium on woman in the second. What special 
connexion have they with the delights conferred by 
Hope % There is a latent connexion, it is true. But 
it is too imperceptible for the vision of every reader. 
In the veiy depths of despair, Hope comes and confers 
consolation ; and Love worshipping at the shrine of 
beauty would soon cool of his ardour and tire of his 
adoration, if it were not for the suggestions of Hope. 
But this api^ioation of these topics to his subject is 
not clearly enough expressed by the poet for the com- 

18» 



310 DISSERTATION ON THE 

prehension of the rapid reader ; nor woald it, at the 
time of perusal, be apt to occur to the most attentive, 
unless he should pause to scrutinize and investi- 
gate it. 

As an example of false philosophy in the poem, the 
very last sentiment— that of Hope lighting her torch ai 
Nature's funeral piltj may be adduced. When frui- 
tion, at the consummation of all things, shall be at- 
tained, will Hope be requisite I Or a question still 
more pointed may be asked. When Nature herself shall 
be destroyed, how can Hope survive 1 Can she expect 
to outlive Nature ? If she does, for what purpose will 
be her prolonged existence ? It is true, that hy the 
word Nature, the poet may mean only the material 
creation, which Christianity teaches us will pass 
away, and be succeeded by a new heaven and a new 
earth. But the phrase, to say the least of it, is am- 
biguous, and comports but little with that anxiety tc 
attain complete accuracy in both thought and expres- 
sion thiougboatthis work, which has been so currently 
ascribed to its author. That wayward and eccentric 
Clitic, William Hazlitt, after a severe assault on the 
fastidiousness of composition displayed in ^*The 
Pleasures of Memory,*' says, " ' Campbell's Pleasures 
of Hope' is of the same school, in which a painful 
attention is paid to the expression in proportion as 
there is little to express, and the decomposition of 
prose is substituted for the composition of poetry ! !'* 
We cannot deny that Campbell paid this painful, 
attention to the composition of his work, for we 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 311 

know not the facts of the case ; but we assert that the 
work affords no proof of it. 

No reader of good taste will, on account of the 
slight blemishes which we have noticed, quarrel with 
this beautiful poem. Its topics, relevant or irrelevant, 
are always pleasing, its thoughts striking, its lan- 
guage forcible, and its versification animated, varied, 
flowing, and uncommonly melodious. Its bursts of 
passion frequently take the reader by surprise, and 
involve him in a dream of admiration and delight. 

For instance, after his powerful sketch of the hor- 
rors of the conquest and devastation of Poland, the 
poet suddenly exclaims : — 

** O righteous Heaven ! ere freedom found a grave, 
Why slept thy sword omnipotent to save ? 
Where was thine arm, O Vengeance ! where thy rod 
That smote the foes of Zion and of God ; 
That cnuh'd proud Ammon, when his iron car 
Was yoked in wrath, and thundered from a£ar ? 
Where vras the storm that slumber'd till the hoet 
Of blood-stain'd Pharaoh left their tiembliog coeaty 
Then hade the deep in wild commotion flow, 
And heaved »n ocean on their mazeh below ?" 

And again, speaking of men destitute of generoas 
impulses, and whose hearts are engrossed with pride 
and selfishness, he abruptly addresses them in the 
following strain of lofty poetical scorn :— 

" But triumph not, ye peace«cnamour*d few ! 
Fire, nature, genius never dwelt with you I 
For you no iuiry consecrates the sceae 
Where rapture uttered vows, and wept Mween g 



312 DISSERTATION ON THie" 

'Tis yours unmoved to sever and to meet ; 
No pledge is sacred, and no home is sweet." 

What heart but must be moved by such appeals, and 
yield homage to the poetry in v<7hich they are conveyed t 

The first part of this poem deals in topics less ab- 
stract than the second. It is by many, therefore, con- 
sidered the more pleasing, and is on the whole, 
perhaps, the more popular of the two. Some of the 
pictures relating to individual feelings and conditions 
are extremely natural and touching. The consola- 
' tions of hope in wedded life, when it is overtaken by 
poverty and the neglect of the world, are expressed in 
the finest strains of afiecting poetry : — 

*< 0! there, prophetic Hope f thy smile bestow. 
And chase the pangs that worth should never know — 
There, as the parent deals his scanty store, 
To friendless bahes, and weeps to give no more. 
Tell that his manly race shall yet assuage 
Their father's wrongs, and shield his latter age. 
What though for him no Hybla sweets distil, 
Nor bloomy vines w«ve purple on the hill ; 
Tell that, when sileBt years have passed away. 
That when his eyes ^row dim, his tresses gray. 
These busy hands a lovelier cot shall build. 
And deck with fairer flowers his little field. 
And call from heaven propitious dews to breathe 
Arcadian beauty on the barren heath ; 
Tell that, when love's spontaneous smile endears 
The days of peace, the sabbath of his years, 
Haalth shall piolong to many a festive hour. 
The social pleasures of his humble bower." 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 918 

Then follows an unriTiilled piotare of a mother 
watching her infant sleeping, which whoever can 
peruse without a full heart, must be destitute of all 
the qualities that render a man worthy of the esteem 
and respect of society. With what tenderness does 
the contemplative mother breathe over the cradle of 
her slumbering boy the following aspirations I 

« And say, when summon'd from the world and thee, 
I lay my head beneath the willow tree, 
Wilt thou, sweet mourner, at my stone appear, 
And soothe my parted spirit lingering near ? 
O wilt thou come, at evening hour, to shed 
The tears of memory o'er my narrow bed ; 
With itching temples on thy hand reclined. 
Muse on the last farewell I leave behind. 
Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur low. 
And think on all my love and all my wo ?" 

And the following picture— who has ever perused it 
without feeling that poetry is the true painter of our 
condition, and the irresistible controller of our best 
affections ? 

" And mark the wretch, whose wanderings never knew 
The world's regard that soothes though half untrue; 
Whose erring heart the lash of sorrow bore. 
But found not pity tchen it err*d no moret 
Yon friendless man, at whose dejected eye 
TV unfeeling proud one looks— <md passes by s 
Condemn'd on penury's barren path to roam, 
Scom'd by the world, and left without a home*- 
E'en he, at evening, should he chance to stray 
Down by the hamlet's hawthorn-scented way, 






S14 DISSERTATION ON THE 

WbeK round the cot*8 romantic glade, are seen 
The bloMom'd bean-field and the sloping green. 
Leans o'er its humble gate, and thinks the while— 
O ! that for me some home like this would smile. 
Some hamlet shade to yield my sickly form. 
Health in the breeze, and shelter in the storm ! 
There should my hand no stinted boon assign 
To wretched hearts with sorrows such as mine .' 
That generous wish can soothe unpitied care. 
And Hope half mingles with the poor inan^s prayer .'" 

The second part of the poem does not so imme- 
diately address itself to our temporary concerns as the 
first,— 4ts topics are not so closely connected with our 
condition in this life, either individually, or socially, 
or politically. But it more solemnly addresses our 
reason, and interests us in the concerns of a future 
existence. It draws its sentiments from a more ele- 
vated source, and in strains truly sublime, inculcates 
lessons of the purest and most important character. 
The strengthening influence of hope in the hour of 
death is thus expressed : — 



tt 



Unfading Hope I when life's last embers burn, 
When soul to soul, and dust to dust return ! 
Heaven to thy .charge resigns the awful hoar ; 
O ! then thy kingdom comes, immortal Power ! 
What though each spark of earth-bom rapture fly 
The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye ! 
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey 
The moising dream of life's eternal day — 
Then, then the triumph and the trance begin. 
And all ttie phanix spirit bums within.' 



» 



PLBA8URES OF HOPE* 316 

There is a wonderfal sublimity in the imagery, as 
well as force in the diction of the passage in relation to 
the return of the human soul to its heavenly origin, 
on being released by death from its corporeal habita- 
tion« 

« Soul of the just ! companion of the dead ! 
Where is thy homey and whither art thoa ied f 
Back to ita heavealy aource thy being goea. 
Swift as the comet wheels from whence he rose ; 
Doom'd on his airy path a while to bum. 
And doom'd tike thee to travel and retumr-' 
Hark ! from the world's exploding centre driven. 
With sounds that shook the firmament of heaven. 
Careers the fiery giant fast and far. 
On bickering wheels and adamantine ear i 
From planet whirl'd to planet more remote. 
He visits realms beyond the reach of thought, 
But wheeling homeward when his course is nm. 
Curbs the red yoke, aud mingles with the sun i 
So hath the traveller of earth unfurl'd 
Her trembling wings, emerging from the world ; 
And o*er the path by mortal never trod. 
Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God !" 

The poet then, in vigorous strains, exposes the 
heartlessness and horror of the doctrine of materialism 
and annihilation ; and illustrates its unhappy inflnence 
by some a£feeling lines on the fkte of a stride : — 

*< And well may doubt, the mother of dismay. 
Pause at her meityr's tomb, and read the lay. 
Down by the wilds of yon deserted vale. 
It darkly UntB a metancholy tale ! 



910 DISSeBTATIOM ON TBI 

Th«fe as the homeksB madmui sits alone. 

In hollow winds he hears a spint moan ! 

And there they say a wizard spirit crowds. 

When the moon lights her •watch-tower in the clouds. 

Poor lost Alonzo ! Fate's neglected child ! 

Mild be the doom of Heaven ! as thou wert nd\d 

For O ! thy heart in holy mould was east, 

Andmiithy deed$ Ufet^bkmUltta but Me tost. 

Poor lost Alonzo .' still I seem to hear 

The elod that ttmck thy hollow-sounding bier ! 

When friendship paid, in speechless sorrow drown*d. 

Thy midnight rites, but not on hallowM ground !" 

The hope of meeting in a better world, which con- 
soles the parting hour of faithful friends, is illustrated 
in a well-narrated and afifecting farewell interview be- 
tween a convict father and his beloved daughter on 
his departnre into perpetual banishment :-m 

" And weep not thus," he cried, •* young Ellenore ; 
My bosom bleeds, but soon shall bleed no more ! 
Short shall this half-extinguishM spirit burn. 
And soon these fimbs to kindred dust return ? 
But not, my child, with life's precarious fire, 
Th* immortal ties of nature shall expire j 
These shall resist the triumph of decay. 
When time is o'er, and worlds have pass'd away. 
' Cold in the dust this perbhM heart may He, 

- But that which wann'd it once shall nevisr dim ! 
. That ^ark unburied in its mortal fia«9> ' 
With living light, eternal, and the same. 
Shall beom on joy's interminable years, 

Unv<eilM by 'darltiie8S**-mna9tfUag«d by ttant^ 
'. • . ' 

The last paragr$ip)i of thff.pqew ^a^i vi^f^n; much 
praised for sublimity. We have already spoken of it 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 317 

with some disapprobation. We think it rather pom- 
poas than sablime. To allow its meaning to pass as 
consistent with sound philosophy, requires that it 
should be indulged in the poetica littntia^ to a degree 
which good poetry will never ask. It betrays an evi- 
dent straining for an effective conclusion ; and reminds 
as of the tasteless flourish which some injudicious 
musicians take the liberty of appending to the most 
beautiful airs. The most agreeable and effective close 
that can be given to a literary performance, is that 
. which, avoiding every appearance of effort, springs na- 
turally and easily from the preceding topics ; and which, 
while its simplicity prevents it from startling the 
reader, possesses sufficient force to &3l his attention 
and impress itself on his memory. • 

We have here specified nearly all the faults which 
we have discovered in this excellent poem. But we 
have not taken notice of the hundredth part of the beau- 
ties. We had not space, for we could fill a volume 
by descanting on its merits. We have been obliged, 
therefore, to only glance at some of the most promi- 
nent, although, perhaps, not the most powerful, of its 
attractions. As a whole, we consider it one of the 
most highly finished and pleasing poems of a didactic 
character, with which we are acquainted; and we 
believe that^e majority of the readers of English 
poetiy at this day, would, rather than part with it from 
their national literature, consent to tlto annihilation of 
one-half of the poetry which has appeared since the 
beginning of the present century. 

19 



THE PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

PART I. 



ANALYSIS. 

The poem opens with a comparison between the beauty 
of remote objects in a landscape, and those ideal scenes of 
felicity which the imagination delights to contemplate — the 
influence of anticipation upon the other passions is next de- 
lineated — an allusion is made to the well-known fiction in 
Pagan tradition, that, when all the guardian deities of man- 
kind abandoned the world, Hope alone was left behind — the 
consolations of this passion in situations^f danger and dis- 
tress — ^the seaman on his midnight watch — ^the soldier march- 
ing into battle — allusion to the interesting adventures of 
Byron. 

The inspiration of Hope, as it actuates the efforts of genius, 
whether in the department of science or of taste — domestic 
felicity, how intimately connected with view» of future happi- 
ness—picture of a mother watching her infant when asleep- 
pictures of the prisoner, the maniac, and the wanderer. 

From the consolations of individual misery, a transition is 
made to prospects of political improvement in the future 
state of societ}' — the wide field that is yet open for the pro- 
gress of humanizing arts among uncivilized nations^— from 
these views of amelioration of society, and the extension of 
liberty and truth over despotic and barbarous countries, by 
melancholy contrast of ideas we are led to reflect upon tht 

219 



230 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

hard fate of a brave people, recently conspicuous in thel^ 
struggles for independence— description of the capture at 
Warsaw, of the last contest of the oppressors and the oppress- 
ed, and flie massacre of the Polish patriots at tlie liridge of 
Prague — apostrophe to the self-interested enemies of human 
improvement — the wrongs of Africa — ^the barbarous policy 
of Europeans in India-Prophecy in the heathen mjrthology 
of the expectedf descent of the Deity, to redress the miseries 
of their race, and to take vengeance on the violators of 
justice and mercy. 



THE 

PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

PART I. 



At summer eve, when heaven's aerial bow 
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below, 
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, 
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky 1 
Why do those cliifs of shadowy tints appear 
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near I- 
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the yiew, 
And robes the mountain. in its azure hue. 

Thus, with delight, we linger to survey 
The promised joys of life's unmeasured way; 
Thus, from afar, each dim-discoyer'd scene 
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been ; 
And every form that fancy can repair 
From dark oblivion glows divinely there. 

What potent spirit guides the raptured eye 
To pierce the shades of dim futurity ! 
Can wisdom lend, with all her heavenly power. 
The pledge of joy's anticipated hour? 

19* 891 



9dS THE PLEASURES 

Ah, no ! she darkly sees the fate of man— 
Her dim horizon bounded to a span ; 
Or, if she hold an image to the view, 
'Tis nature pictured too severely true. 

With thee, sweet hope ! resides the heavenly light 
That pours remotest rapture on the sight : 
Thine is the charm of life's bewilder'd way. 
That calls each slumbering passion into play : 
Waked by thy touch, I see the sister band, 
On tiptoe watching, start at thy command. 
And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer. 
To pleasure's path, or glory's bright career. 

Primeval hope, th' Aonian muses say. 
When man and nature mourn'd their first decay ; 
When every form of death, and every wo. 
Shot from malignant stars to earth below ; 
When murder bared his arm, and rampant war 
Yoked the red dragons of her iron car ; 
When peace and mercy, banish'd from the plain, 
Sprung on the viewless winds to heaven again ; 
All, all forsook the friendless guilty mind. 
But hope, the charmer, linger'd still behind. 

Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels prepare 
From Carmel's hei^t to sweep the fields of air, 
The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, 
Dropt on the worid— « sacred gift to man. 



OF HOPE. 333 

Aaspieioas hope ! in thy sweet garden grow 
Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every wo : 
Won by their sweets, in natore's languid hour 
The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower ; 
There as the wild-bee mnrmnrs on the wing, 
What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring! 
What yiewless forms th* ^olian organ play. 
And sweep the furrowM lines of anxious thought 
away. 

Angel of life! thy glittering wings explore 
Earth's loneliest bounds, and ocean's wildest shore. 
Lo ! to the wintry wind the pilot yields 
His bark careering o'er unfathomed fields ; 
Now on Atlantic wayes he rides afar, 
Where Andes, giant of the western star, 
With meteor standard to the winds unfurlM, 
Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world. 

Now far he sweeps where scarce a summer smiles. 
On Behring's ^ocks, or Greenland's naked isles: 
Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow. 
From wastes that slumber in eternal snow ; 
And waft across the wayes' tumultuous roar. 
The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore. 

Poor child of danger, nursliBg of the storm, 
Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form ! 
Rocks, waves, and winds, the shatter'd bark dday ; 
' Thylieart is sad, tiiy home is far away. 



S34 THE PLEASURES 

Bat hope can here her moonlight vigils keep. 
And sing to charm the spirit of the deep. 
Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole, 
Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul : 
His native hills that rise in happier climes. 
The grot that heard his song of other times, 
His cottage home, his hark of slender sail, 
His glassy lake, and broom wood-blossom'd vale. 
Rush on his thought ; he sweeps before the wind. 
Treads the loved shore he sighM to leave behind ; 
Meets at each step a friend's familiar face. 
And flijes at last to Helen's long embrace ; 
Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear. 
And clasps, with many a sigh, his children dear ! 
While, long neglected, but at length caressM, 
His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest. 
Points to his master's eyes (where'er they roam) 
His wistful face, and whines a welcome home. 

Friend of the brave ! in peril's darkest hour, 
Intrepid virtue looks to thee for power ; 
To thee the heart its trembling homage yields. 
On stormy floods, and carnag^^sover'd fields. 
When front to front the banner'd hosts combine. 
Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful line ; 
When all is still on death's devoted soil, , 
The march-'worn soldier mingles for the toil ; 
As rings his glittering tube, he lifts on high 
The danntless brow and spirit-speaking eye. 



or ROPE. 995 

HaiU in his heart the triumph yet to come. 
And hears thy stormy music in the drum. 

And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore 
The hardy Byron to his natire shore— (a) 
In torrid cli^ies, whore Chiloe's tempests streep 
Tumultnons murmurs o'er the troubled deep, 
Twas his to mourn misfortune's rudest shock. 
Scourged by the wind, and cradled on the rook. 
To wake each joyless mom, and search again 
The famishM haunts of solitary men. 
Whose race, unyielding as their native storm. 
Knows not a trace of nature but the form ; 
Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar pursued. 
Pale but intrepid, sad but unsubdued, 
Pierced the deep woods, and, hailing from afar 
The moon's pale planet and the northern star ; 
Paused at each dreaty ciy, unheard before. 
Hyenas in the wild, and mermaids on the shore ; 
Till, led by thee o'er many a cliff sublime. 
He found a warmer world, a milder clime, * 
A home to rest, a shelter to defend, 
Peace and repose, a Briton and a friend ! (6) 

Congenial hope ! thy passion-kindling power, 
How bright, how strong, in youth's untroubled 

hour! 
On yon proud height, with genius hand in hand, 
I see thee light, and wave thy golden wand. 



f 



326 THE PLEASURES 

"Go, child of heayen, (thy winged words pro- 
claim,) 
'Tis thine to search the boundless field of fame ! 
Lo ! Newton, priest of nature, shines afar. 
Scans the wide world, and numbers every star ! 
Wilt thou, with him, mysterious rites apply, 
And watch the shrine with wonder-beaming eye 1 
Yes, thou shalt marl?, with magic art profound. 
The speed of light, the circling march of sound ; 
With Franklin grasp the lightning's fiery wing. 
Or yield the lyre of heaven another string, (e) 

" The Swedish sage admires, in yonder bowers, (cQ 
His winged insects and his rosy flowers ; 
Calls from their woodland haunts the savage train 
With sounding horn, and counts them on the plain- 
So once, at Heaven's command, the wanderers came 
To Eden's shade, and heard their various name. 

" Far from the world, in yon sequester'd clime. 
Slow pass the sons of wisdom, more sublime, 
Calm as the fields of heaven, his sapient eye 
The loved Athenian lifts to realms on high ; 
Admiring Plato, on his spotless page. 
Stamps the bright dictates of the father sage ; 
' Shall nature bound to earth's diurnal span 
The fire of God, th' immortal soul of man V 

" Turn, child of heaven, thy rapture-lighten'd eye < 
To wisdom's walk, — ^the sacred nine are nigh ; 



OF HOPE. 397 

Hark! from bright spires that gild the Delphian 

height, 
From streams that wander in eternal light, 
Ranged; on their hill, HiTmonia's daughters swell 
The mingling tones of horn, and harp, and shell ; 
Deep from his Taults the Loxian murmurs flow, (e) 
And Pythia's awful organ peals below. 

*V Beloved of heaven! the smiling muse shall 
shed 
Her moonlight halo on thy beauteous head $ 
Shall swell thy heart to rapture unconfined, 
And breathe a holy madness o'er thy mind. 
I see thee roam her guardian power beneath, 
And talk with spirits on the midnight heath ; 
Inquire of guilty wanderers whence they came. 
And ask each blood-stainM form his earthly name ; 
Then weave in rapid verse the deeds they tell, 
And read the trembling world the tales of hell 

^* When Venus, throned in clouds of rosy hue, 
Flings from her golden urn the vesper dew, 
And bids fond man her glimm^ng noon employ. 
Sacred to love and walks of tender joy ; 
A milder mood the goddess shall recall. 
And soft as dew thy tones of music fall ; 
While beauty's deeply-pictured smiles impart 
A pang more dear thaa pleasure to the heart- 
Warm as thy sighs shaU flow the Lesbian strain, 
And plead in beauty's ear, nor plead in vain. 



2S{8 THE PLEASURES 

** Or wilt thou Orphean hjrmns more sacred deem^ 
And steep thy song in mercy's mellow stream ; 
To pensive drops the radiant eye beguile— 
For beauty's tears are lovelite than her smile ; 
On nature's throbbing anguish pour relief, 
And teach impassion'd souls the joy of grief f 

'* Yes ; to thy tongue shall seraph words be given, 
And power on earth to plead the cftase of heaven : 
The proud, the cold, untroubled heart of stone. 
That never mused on sorrow but its own. 
Unlocks a generous store at thy command. 
Like Horeb's rocks beneath the prophet's hand. (/) 
The living lumber of his kindred earth, 
Charm'd into soul, receives a second birth; 
Feels thy dread power another heart afford. 
Whose passion-touch'd harmonious strings accord 
True as the circling spheres to nature's plan ; 
And man, the brother, lives the friend of man ! 

*' Bright 18 the pillar rose at Heaven's command, 
When Israel maroh'd along the desert land. 
Blazed thniiigii the night on lonely wilds afar. 
And told the path — a never-setting star : 
So heavenly genius, in thy course divine, 
Hope is thy star, her light is ever thine." 

Propitieiis power ! when rankling cares annoy 
The saoied home of Hymenean joy ; 



or HOPB. 3d9 

When doom'd to poverty's sequester'd delly 

The wedded pair of love and virtue dwell, 

Unpitied by the world, unknown to fame, 

Their woes, their wii^es, and their hearts the same*— 

O there, prophetic hope ! thy smile bestow. 

And chase the pangs that worth shoald never know-— 

Tliere, as the parent deals his scanty store 

To friendless babes, and weeps to give no more, 

Tell, that his manly race shall yet assuage 

itatr lather's wrongs, and shield his later age. 

What though for him no Hybla's sweets distil, 

Nor bloomy vines wave purple on the hill ; 

Tell, that when silent years have passM away. 

That when his eyes grow dim, his tresses gray. 

These busy hands a Tovelier cot shall build. 

And deck with fairer flowers his little field, 

And call from heaven propitious dews to breathe 

Arcadian beauty on the barren heath ; 

Tell, that while love's spontaneous smile endears 

The days of peace, the sabbath of his years. 

Health shall prolong to many a festive hour 

The social pleasures of his humble bower. ^ 

Lo ! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps. 
Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps ; 
She, while the lovely babe uneonscious lies. 
Smiles om Jwr slumbering ehOd with peneive eyes. 
And weaves a song of melancholy joy-^ 
«< Sleep, image of thy Either, sleep, my boy : 



930 THE PLEASURES 

No lingering hour of sorrow shall be thine ; 
No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine ; 
Bright as his manly sire, the son shall be 
In form and soul ; but, ah ! more blest than he ! 
.Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last. 
Shall soothe this aching heart for all the past— 
With many a smile my solitude repay, 
And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away. 

'* And say, when sommon'd from the world and thee, 
I lay my head beneath the willow tree. 
Wilt ihou^ sweet mourner ! at my stone appear, 
And soothe my parted spirit lingering near % 
O, wilt thou come, at evening hour, to shed 
The tears of memory o'er my naif ow bed ; 
With aching temples on thy hand reclined, 
Muse on the last farewell I leave behind. 
Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur low. 
And think on all my love and all my wo V 

So speaks affection, ere the infant eye 
Can ^ok regard, or brighten in reply ; 
But when the cherub lip hath learnt to claim 
A mother's ear by that endearing name ; 
Soon as the playful innocent can prove 
A tear of pity or a smile of love. 
Or cons his murmuring task beneath her eare, 
Or lisps with holy look his evening prayer, , 
Or gazing, mutely pensive, sits to hear 
The mournful ballad warbled in his ear ; 



OF HOPS. 231 

I 

How fondly looks admiring hope ther while, 
At every artless tear, and every smile ! 
How glows the joyous parent to descry 
A guileless bosom true to sympathy ! 

Where is the troubled heart consignM to share 
Tumultuous toils or solitary care, 
UnBlest by visionary thoughts that stray 
To count the joys of fortune's better day I 
Lo, nature, life, and liberty relume 
The dim-eyed tenant of the dungeon gloom, 
A long-lost friend, or hapless child" restored. 
Smiles at his blazing hearth and social board ; 
Warm from his hear^ the tears of rapture flow. 
And virtue triumphs o'er remember'd wo. . 

Chide not his peace, proud reason ! nor destroy 
The shadowy forms of uncreated joy. 
That urge the lingering tide of life, and pour 
Spontaneous slumber on his midnight hour. 

Hark ! the wild maniac sings, to chide the gale 
That wafts so slow her lover's distant sail ; 
She, sad spectatress, on the wintry shore, 
Watch'd the rude surge his shroudless corse that 

bore, 
Knew the pale form, and shrieking in amaze, 
Clast>'d her cold hands, and fix'd her maddening gaze ! 
Poor widow'd wretch ! 'twas there she wept in vain, 
Till memory fled her agonizing brain : — 



S33 THB PLKA8URE8 

• 

Bat Mercy gave, to charm the sense of wo, 
Ideal |>eace, that truth could ne'er bestow ! 
Warm on her heart the joys of fancy beam. 
And aimless hope delights her darkest dream. 

Oft when yon moon has climbM the midnight sky. 
And the lone sea-bird wakes its wildest cry. 
Piled on the steep, her blazing fagots burn 
To hail the bark that never can return ; 
And still she waits, but scarce forbears to weep. 
That constant love can linger on the deep. 

And, mark the wretch, whose wanderings neyer 
knew 
The world's regard, that soothes, though half untrue ; 
Whose erring heart the lash of sorrow bore. 
But found not pity when it err'd no more ; 
Yon friendless man, at whose dejected eye 
Th' unfeeling proud one looks — and passes by ; 
Condemn'd on penury's barren path to roam, 
Scorn'd by the world, and left without a home^- 
E'en he, at evening, should he chance to stray 
Down by the hamlet's hawthorn-scented way. 
Where, round the cot's romanUc glade, are seen 
The blossom'd bean-field, and the sloping green. 
Leans o'er its humble gate, and thinks the ii^hile^- 
O ! that for me some home like this would smile. 
Some hamlet shade, to yield my sickly form, « 
Health in^the breeze, and shelter in the storm ! 



OF ROPE. 233 

There should my hand no stinted boon assign 
To wretched hearts with sorrows such as mine ! 
That generous wish can soothe unpitied care, 
And hope half mingles with the poor man's prayer. 

Hope ! when I mourn, with sympathizing mind, 
The wrongs of fate, the woes of human kind. 
Thy blissful omens bid my spirit see 
The boundless fields of rapture yet to be, 
I watch the wheels of nature's mazy plan. 
And le§rn the future by the past of man. 

e 

Come, bright improvement! on the car of time, 
And rule the spacious world from clime to clime ; 
Thy handmaid aril shall every wild explore, 
Trace every wave, and culture every shore. 
On Erie's Banks, where tigers steal along. 
And the dread Indian chants a dismal song. 
Where human fiends on midnight errands walk. 
And bathe in brains the murderous tomahawk ; 
There shall the flocks on thymy pasture stray. 
And shepherds dance at summer's opening day ; 
Each wandering genius of the lonely glen 
Shall start to view the glittering haunts of men ; 
And -silent watch, on woodland heights around. 
The village curfew, as it tolls profound. 

* 

In Libyan groves, where damned rites are done, 
That bathe the rocks in blood, and veil the sun, 

20* 



234 THE PLEASURES 

Truth shall arrest the murderous arm profane, 
Wild Obi flies (t) — ^the veil is rent in twain. 

' Where barbarous hordes on Scjihian mountains 

roam, 
Truth, mercy, freedom, yet shall find a home; 
Where'er degraded nature bleeds and pines. 
From Guinea's coast to Sibir's dreary mines, (g) 
Truth shall pervade th' unfathom'd darkness there. 
And light the dreadful features of despair.-— 
Hark ! the stem captive spurns his heavy load, 
And asks the image back that Heaven bestow'd : 
Fierce in his eyes the fire of valour bums. 
And, as the slave departs, the man returns. 

O ! sacred truth ! thy triumph ceased a while, 
And hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile. 
When leagued oppression pour'd to northern wars 
Her whisker'd pandours and her fierce hussars, 
Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trampet hom ; 
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 
Presaging wrath to Poland--and to man ! (h) 

Warsaw's last champion from her height sarvey'd. 
Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid,-— 
O ! Heaven ! he cried, my bleeding country save ; 
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave t 
Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains. 
Rise, fellow men ! our country yet remains ! 



OF HOPE. 336 

By that dread name, we wave the sword on high. 
And swear for her to live ! with her to die ! 

He said, and on the rampart heights array'd 
His trusty warriors, few, but undismayM ! 
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form. 
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; 
Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly, 
Reyenge, or death, — the watchword and reply ; 
Then pealM the notes omnipotent to charm. 
And the loud tocsin tolPd their last alarm !— 

In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ! 
From rank to rank your yolley'd thunder flew :— 
O ! bloodiest picture in the book of time, 
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; 
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe. 
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her wo ! 
Dropt from her nenreless grasp the shattered spear. 
Closed h^ bright eye, and curb'd her high career !•— 
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell. 
And ireedom shriek'd-«4tfi Kosoiusxo fell. 

The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there, 
Tamultuoos murder shook the midnight air— - 
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow. 
His blood-dyed waters muimnring fu below ; 
The storm jurerails, the ramparts yield a way, ' 
Bursts the wild eiy of horror and dismay ; 



336 THE PLEASURES 

Hark ! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, 
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call ! 
Earth shook — ^red meteors flashM along the sky, 
And conscious nature shudder'd at the cry ! 

O ! righteous Heayen ! ere freedom found a graye. 
Why slept thy sword, omnipotent to saye ? 
Where wsis thine arm, O Vengeance ! where thy 

rod. 
That smote the foes of Zion and of God, 
That crush'd proud Ammon, when his iron car 
Was yoked jn wrath, and thunder'd from afor ? 
Where was the storm that slumher'd till the host 
Of blood-stain'd Pharaoh left their trembling coast t 
Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow. 
And heayed an ocean on their march below ! 

Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! 
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bleid ! 
Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man, 
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the yan ; 
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, 
And make her arm puissant as your own ! 
O ! once again to freedom's cause return 
The patriot Tbll— the Bruce of BannoMum ! 

Yes ! thy proud lords, unpitied land ! shall see 
That man hath yet a soul— and dare be free ; 
A little while, along thy saddening plains. 
The starless night of desolation reigns ; 



OF HOPE. S37 



Truth shall restore the light by nature giren, 
And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of heaven ! 
Prone to the dust oppression shall be hurl'd,-— 
Her name, her nature, withered from the world ! 

N 

Ye that the rising moon invidious mark. 
And hate the light — because your deeds are dark ; 
Ye that expanding truth invidious view, 
And think, or wish the song of hope untrue ! 
Perhaps your little hands presume to span 
The march of genius, and the powers of man ; 
Perhaps ye Watch, at pride's unhallowM shrine. 
Her victims, newly slain, and thus divine :<— 
" Here shall thy triumph, genius, cease ; and here, 
Truth, science, virtue, close your short career/ 



• • 



♦> 



Tyrants ! in vain ye trace the wizard ring ; 
In vain ye limit mind's unwearied spring : 
What ! can ye lull the winged winds asleep. 
Arrest the rolling world, or chain the deep ? 
No :— the wild wave contemns your sceptred hand ;— 
It roU'd not back when Canute gave command ! 

Man ! can thy doom no brighter soul allow t 
Still must thou live a blot on nature's browl 
Shall war's polluted banner ne'er be furl'd ? 
Shall crimes and tyrants cease but with the world 1 
What ! are thy triumphs, sacred truth, belied 1 
Why then hath Plato lived— or Sidney died % 



336 THE PLEASURES 

' Ye fond adorers of departed fame, 
Who warm at Scipio's worth, or TuUy^s name 
Ye that, in fancied vision, can admire 
The sword of Brutus, and the Thehan lyre ! 
Wrapt in historic ardour, who adore 
Each classic haunt and well-rememberM shore. 
Where valour tuned, amid her chosen throng, 
The Thracian trumpet and the Spartan song ; 
Or, wandering thence, behold the later charms 
Of England^s glory, and Helvetia's arms ! 
See Roman fire in Hampden's bosom "Swell, 
And fate and freedom in the shaft of Tell ! 
Say, ye fond zealots to the worth of yore, 
Hath valour left the world — to live no more ? 
No more shall Brutus bid a tyrant die. 
And sternly smile with vengeance in his eye ? 
Hampden no more, when suffering freedom calls, 
Encounter fate, and triumph as he falls ? 
Nor Tell disclose, through peril and alarm, 
The might that slumbers in a peasant's arm % 

Yes ! in that generous cause for ever strong, 
The patriot's virtue, and the poet's song. 
Still, as the tide of ages rolls away. 
Shall charm the world, unconscious of decay ! 

Yes ! there are hearts, prophetic hope may trust, 
That slumber yet in uncreated dust, 
Ordain'd to fire th' adorins sons of earth 
With every charm of wisdom and of worth ; 



I 

\ 



OF HOPE. 389 

OidainM to light, with intellectual day. 
The mazy wheels of natare as they play, 
Or, warm with fancy's eaergy, to glow. 
And rival all hut Shakspeare's name below ! 

. And say, supemal powers ! who deeply scan 
Heaven's dark decrees, onfathom'd yet by man. 
When shall the world call down, to cleanse her 

shame. 
That embryo spirit, yet without a name, — 
That friend of nature, whose avenging hands 
Shall burst the Libyan's adamantine bands % 
Who, sternly marking on his native soil. 
The blood, the tears, the anguish, and the toil. 
Shall bid each righteous heart exult, to see 
Peace to the slave, and vengeance on the free t 

Yet, yet, degraded men ! th' expected day 
That bleaks your bitter cup, is far away ; 
Trade, wealth, and fashion ask you still to bleed, 
And holy men give scripture for the deed ; 
Scourged and debased, no Briton stoops to save 
A wretch, a coward ; yes, because a slave ! 

Eternal Nature ! when thy giant hand 
Had heaved the floods, and fix'd the trembling land. 
When life sprung startling at thy plastic call, 
Endless her forms, and man the lord of all ; 
Sajr^ was that lordly form inspired by thee 
To'^wear eternal chains^ and bow the knee? 



340 THE PLEASURES 

Was man ordain'd the slare of man to toil^ 
Yoked with the brutes, and fetterM to the soil ; 
WeighM in a tyrant's balance with his gold 1 
No ! — ^Natoie stampM us in a hearenl j mould 1 
She bade no wretch his thankless labour urge, 
Nor, trembling, take the pittance and the scourge ! 
No homeless Libyan, on the stormy deep. 
To call upon his country's name and weep ! 

Lo ! once in triumph on his boundless plain. 
The quiyer'd chief of Congo loved to reign! 
With fires proportion'd to his natiye sky. 
Strength in his arm, and lightning in his eye ! 
Scoui^d with wild feet his sun-illumined lone, 
The spear, the lion, and the woods his own ! 
' Or led the combat, bold without a plan. 
An artless savage, but a fearless man ! 

The plunderer came :^-alas ! no glory smiles 
For Congo's chief on yonder Indian isles ! ^ 

For ever falleii ! no son of nature now. 
With freedom eharter'd on his manly brow : 
Faint, bleeding, bound, he weeps the night away. 
And, when the sea-wind wafts the dewless day. 
Starts, with a bursting heart, for evermore 
To cwrse die sun that lights their guilty shore. 
The shrill horn blew ! (k) at that alarum knell 
His guardian angel took a last farewell ! 
That funeral dirge to darkness iiath resign'd 
The fiery grandeur of a generous mind !— - «• 



OF HOPE. 941 

Poor fetter'd man ! I hear thee whispering low 
Unhallow'd vows to gailt, the child of wo! 
Friendless thy heart! and, canst thou harbour 

there 
A wish but .death — a passion but despair ? 



The widowM Indian, when her lord expii^, 
Mounts the dread pile, and braves the funeral fires I 
So falls the heart at thraldom's bitter sigh ! 
So virtue dies, the spouse of liberty ! 

But not to Libya's barren climes alone. 
To Chili, or the wild Siberian zone, 
Belong the wretched heart and haggard eye,. 
Degraded worth, and poor misfortune's sigh ! 
Ye orient realms, where Ganges' waters run ! 
Prolific fields ! dominions of the sun ! 
How long your tribes have trembled, and obey'd ! 
How long was Timour's iron sceptre sway'd ! (/) 
Whose marshall'd hosts, the liona of the plain, 
From Scythia's northern mountains to the main. 
Raged o'er your plunder'd shrines and altars bare. 
With blazing torch and gory scimitar,— 
Stunn'd with the cries of death each gentle gale, 
Aiid bathed in blood the verdure of the vale. 
Yet could no pangs th' immortal spirit tame. 
When Brama's children perish'd for his name; 
The martyr smiled beneath avenging power. 
And braved the tyratit in his torturing hour I 

31 



342 THE PLEASURES 

When Europe sought your subject realms to gaio, 
And stretchM her giant sceptre o'er the main, 
Taught her proud barks their winding way to shape, 
And braved the stormy spirit of the cape ; (m) 
Children of Brama ! then was mercy nigh 
To wash the stain of blood's eternal dye? 
Did peace descend, to triumph and to save, 
When freeborn Britons cross'd the Indian wave ? 
Ah, no ! — to more than Rome's ambition true, 
The nurse of freedom gave it not to you ! 
She the bold route of Europe's guilt began. 
And, in the march of nations, led the van I 

Rich in the gems of India's gaudy zone, 
And plunder piled from kingdoms not their Qwn, 
Degenerate trade ! thy minions could despise 
The heart-born anguish of a thousand cries ; 
Could lock, with impious hands, their teeming. store, 
While famish'd nations died along the shore ; (n) 
Could mock the groans of fellow men, and bear 
The curse of kingdoms peopled with despair ! . 
Could stamp disgrace on man's polluted name. 
And barter with their gold, eternal -shame ! 

But hark ! as bow'd to earth the Bramin kneels. 
From heavenly climes propitious thunder peals ! 
Of India'Q fate her guardian spirits tell. 
Prophetic murmurs breathing on the shell. 
And solemB sounds, that awe the listening mind, 
Roll on the azure paths of every wind. 



OF HOPE. 343 

Foes of mankind ! (her gaardian spirits say,) 
Revolving ages bring the bitter day, 
When Heaven^s unerring arm shall fall on you, 
And blood for blood these Indian plains bedew ; 
Nine times have Brama^s wheels of lightning hurPd 
His awful presence o'er th' alarmed world ! (o) 
Nine times hath guilt, through all his giant frame, 
Convulsive trembled as the Mighty came ! 
Nine times hath suffering Mercy spared in vain — 
But Heaven shall burst her starry gates again : 
He comes ! dread Brama shakes the sunless sky 
With murmuring wrath, and thunders from on high ! 
Heaven's fiery horse, beneath his warrior form. 
Paws the light clouds, and gallops on the storm ! 
Wide waves his flickering sword, his bright arms 

glow 
Like summer suns, and light the world below 1 
Earthf and her trembling isles in ocean's bed, 
Are shook, and. nature rocks beneath his tread. 

"To pour redress on India's injured realm. 
The oppressor to dethrone, the proud to whelm ; 
To chase destruction from h^r plunder'd shore, 
With arts and arms that triumph'd once before. 
The tenth Avater comes ! at Heaven's command 
Shall Seriswattee (jd) wave her hallow'd wand ! 
And Camdeo bright ! and Genesa sublime. 
Shall bless with joy their own propitious clime ! 
Come, heavenly Powers ! primeval peace restore ! 
Love ! — mercy ! — wisdom ! rule for evermore !" 



NOTES 

TO 

PLEASURES OF HOPE. 
PART I. 



i^uie (a.) And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore 
The hardy Byron to liis native shore. 

The following picture of his own distress, given by Byron 
in his simple and interesting narrative, justifies the descrip- 
tion in page 225. 

After relating the barbarity of the Indian cacique to his 
child, he proceeds thus . — ** A day or two after, we put to sea 
again, and crossed the great ba^ I mentioned we had been at 
the bottom of when we first hauled away to the westward. 
The land here was very low and sandy, and something like 
the mouth of a river which discharged itself' into the sea, 
and which had been taken no notice of by us before, as it 
was so shallow that the Indians were obliged to take every 
thing out of their canoes, and carry it over land. We rowed 
up the river four or five leagues, and then took into a branch 
of it that ran first to the eastward, and then to the northward ; 
here it became much narrower, and the stream excessively 
rapid, so that we gained but little way, though we wrought 
Very hard. At night we landed upon its banks, and had a 
most uncomfortable lodging, it being a perfect swamp ; and 
we had nothing to cover us, though it rained excessively. 
The Indians were little better off than we, as there was no 
wood here to make their wigwam ; so that all they could do 
was to prop up the bark which they carry in the bottom of 

344 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 245 

their canoes, and shelter themselves as well as they could to 
the leeward of it. Knowing the difficulties they had to en- 
counter here, they had provided themselves with some seal ; 
but we had not a morsel to eat, after the heavy fatigues of 
the day, excepting a sort of root we saw the Indians make 
use of, which was very disagreeable to the taste. We la- 
boured all next day against the stream, and fared as we had 
done the day before. The next day brought us to the carry- 
ing place. Here was plenty of wood, but nothing to be got 
for sustenance. We passed this night, as we had frequently 
done, under a tree ; but what we suffered at this time is not 
easy to be expressed. I had been three days at the oar, with- 
out any kind of nourishment, except the wretched root above 
mentioned. I had no shirt, for it had rotted off by bits. All 
my clothes consisted of a short grieko, (something like a bear- 
skin,) a piece of red cloth which had once been a waistcoat, 
and a ragged pair of trousers, without shoes or stockings. 



» 



Note 0.) A Briton and a friend. 
Don Patricio 6edd, a Scotch physician in one of the Spanish 
settlements, hospitably relieved l^ron and his wretched as- 
sociates, of which the commodore speaks in the warmest 
terms of gratitude. 

Note (c;) Or yield the lyre of heaven another string. 

The seven strings of Apollo's harp were the symbolical 
representation of the seven planets. Herschel, by discover- 
ing an eighth, might be said to add another string to the 
instrument. 

Note (d.) The Swedish saga Linneus. 
Note (e.) Deep from his vaults the Loxian murmurs flow. 
Loxias is a name frequently given to Apollo by Greek 
writers : it is met with more than once in the Chosphorse of 
^schylus. 

31* 



346 NOTES TO 

Note (/.) Unlocks a generous store at thy command 

^ Like Horeb's rock beneath the prophet's hand. 

See Exodus, chap. xvii. 3. 6, 6. 

NoteCs.) Wild Obi flies. 
Among the negroes of the West Indies, Obi, or Obiah, is 
the name of a magical power, which is believed by them to 
affect the object of its malignity with dismal calamities. 
Such a belief must undoubtedly have be^n deduced from 
the superstitious mythology of their kinsmen on the coast of 
Africa. I have therefore personified Obi as the evil spirit 
of the African, although the history of the African tribes 
mentions the evil spirit of their religious creed by a different 
appellation. 

Note (g.) Sibir's dreary mines. 
Mr. Bell of Antermony, in his travels through Siberia, in- 
forms us that the name of the country is universally pro- 
nounced Siber by the Russians. 

Note (A.) Presaging wrath to Poland— and to man ! 
The history of the partition of Poland, of the massacre in 
the suburbs of Warsaw, and on the bridge of Prague, the 
triumphant entry of Suwarrow into the Polish capital, and 
the insult offered to human nature, by the blasphemous thanks 
offered up to Heaven, for victories obtained over men fight- 
ing in the sacred cause of liberty, by murderers and oppress- 
ors, are events generally known. 

^ote (A.) Tlie shrill hfym blew. 

•The n^oes in the West Indies are summoned to tiieir 
morning work by a shell or horn. 

Note (I.) How long was Timour's iron sceptre sway'df 
To elucidate this passage, I shall subjoin a quotatioi^ from 
the Prefiwe to Letters from a Hindoo Rigah, a work of ele- 
gance and celebrity : — 



\ 



PliBASURES OF HOPl^. S^7 

*< The impostor of Mecca had established, as one of the 
principles of his doctrine, the merit of extending it, either 
by persuasion or the sword, to all parts of the earth. How 
steadily the injunction was adhered to by his followers, and 
with what syccess it was pursued, is well known to all who 
are in the least conversant in history. 

'< The same overwhelming torrent which had inundated 
the greater part of Africa, burst its way into the very heart 
of Europe, and covered many kingdoms of Asia with unbound- 
ed desolation, directed its baleful course to the flourishing 
provinces of Hindostan. Here these fierce and hardy adven- 
turers, whose only improvement had been in the science of 
destruction, who added the fvLvy of fanaticism to the ravages 
of war, found the great end of their conquests opposed by 
objects which neither the ardour of their persevering zeal 
nor savage barbarity could surmount. Multitudes were sa- 
crificed by the cruel hand of religious persecution, and whole 
countries were deluged in blood, in the vain hope, that by 
jthe destruction of a part, the remainder might be persuaded, 
or terrified, into the profession of Mahomedanism ; but all 
these sanguinary efforts were ineffectual ; and at length, be- 
ing fully convinced, that though they might extirpate, they 
could never hope to convert any number of the Hindooi, 
they relinquished the impracticable idea with which they 
'bad entered upon their career of conquest, and contented 
themselves with the acquirement of the civil dominion and 
almost universal empire of Hindostan.*'— £«ff«rf from a 
Hindoo Rajah, by Eliza Hamilton, 

Note(m.) And braved the stormy spirit of the Cape. 

See the description of the Cape of Good Hope, trtnilftted 
from Cameons, by Miekle. 



248 PtEABURES OF HOPE. 

IQfote (f».) While famishM natiomi died along the ehore. 
The following: account of the British conduct, and its con- 
sequences in Bengal, will afford a sufficient idea of the 
fact alluded to in this passage. After describing the mono- 
poly of salt, heiel-nut, and tobacco, the historian proceeds 
thus: — ^«* Money in this current came but by drops ; it couM 
not quench the thirst of those who waited in Indiji to receive 
it. An expedient, such as it was, remained to quicken its 
pace. The natives could live with little salt, but could not 
want food. Some of the agents saw themselves well situated 
for collecting the rice into stores : they did so. They knew 
the Gentoos would rather die than violate the principles of 
their religion by eating flesh. The alternative would there- 
fore 1)e between giving what they had or dying. The inhabit- 
ants sunk ; — they had cultivated the land, and saw the har- 
vest at the disposal of othevs, planted in doubt — scarcity en- 
sued. Then the monopoly was easier managed — ^sicknetis 
ensued. In some districts the languid living left the bodies 
of their numerous dead unburied." — Short History qf Eng" 
lUh Transactions in the East Indies, page 145. 

Note Co.) Nine times hath Brama's wheels of lightning hurPd 
His awful presence o'er the prcetrate Yrorld \ 

Among the sublime fictions of the Hindoo mytholog}% it is 
one article of belief, that the deity Brama has descended 
nine times upon the world in various foims, and that he is 
yet to appear a tenth time, in the figure of a warrior upon a 
white horse, to cut off all incorrigible offenders. • Avater is 
the word used to express his descent. 

Note (p.) And Camdeo bright, and Oenesa sublime. 
' Camdeo is the god at love, in the mythology of the Hin- 
doos. Genesa and Seriswattee correspond to the pagan dei- 
ties Janus and Minerva. 



THE PLEASURES Of HOPE. 

PART II. 



ANALYSIS. 



Apostrophe to the power of love— its intimate connexion 
with generous and social sensibility — allusion to that beauti- 
ful passage in the beginning of the book of Genesis, which 
represents the happiness of Paradise itself incomplete, till 
love was superadded to its other blessings— the dreams of 
future felicity which a lively imagination is apt to cherish, 
when hope is animated by refined attachment— this disposi- 
tion to combine, in one imaginary scene of residence, all that 
is pleasing in our estimate of happiness, compared to the skill 
of the great artist, who personified perfect beauty, in the pic- 
ture of Venus, by an assemblage of the most beautiful fea- 
tures he could find' — a summer and winter evening described, 
as they may be supposed to arise in the mind of one who 
wishes, with enthusiasm, for the union of friendship and re- 
tirement. 

Hope and imagination inseparable agents-^^yen in those 
contemplative moments when our imagination wanders be- 
yond the boundaries of this world, our minds are not unat- 
tended with an impression that we shall some day have a 
wider and more distinct prospect of the universe, instead of 
the partial glimpse we now enjoy. 

The last and roost sublime influence of hope, is the con* 

349 



I 



250 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

eluding topic of the poem, — ^the predominance of a belief in 
a future state over the terrors attendant on dissolution — the 
baneful inAuence of ^at sceptical philosophy which bars us 
from such comforts — allusion to the fate of a suicide — Episode 
of Conrad and Ellenore — Conclusion. 



 THE 

PLEAStJRES OF HOPE. 

PART II. 



Iw joyous youth, what soul hath liever known 
Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to its own? 
Who hath not paused while beauty's pensive eye 
AskM from his heart the homage of a sigh \ 
Who hath'^not ownM, with rapture-smitten frame, 
The power of grace, the magic of a namerl 

There be, perhaps, who barren hearts avow, 
Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow ; 
There be, whose loveless wisdom never faiPd, 
In self-adoring pride securely mail'd ; 
But, triumph not, ye peace-enamour'd few ! 
Fire, nature, genius, never dwelt with you ! 
For you no fancy consecrates the scene 
Where rapture utter'd vows, and wept between ; 
^Tis yours, lihmoved to sever and to meet ; 
No pledge is sacred,, and no home is sweet ! 

Who that would ask a heart to dulness wed. 
The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead 1 

251 



d5d THE PLEASURES * 

No: the wild bliss of nature needs alloy, 
And care and sorrow fan the fire of joy ! 
And say, without our hopes, without our fears, 
Without the home that plighted Iqve endears. 
Without the smiles from partial beauty won, 
O ! what were man 1 a world without a sun ! 

Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour, 
There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower ! 
In yain the viewless seraph lingering there. 
At stany midnight charm'd the silent air ; 
In vain the wild bird carollM on the steep. 
To hail the sun, slow-wheeling from the deep ; 
In vain, to soothe the solitary shade, 
Aerial notes in mingling measure playM ; 
The summer wind that shook the spangled tree, 
The whispering wave, the murmur of thb bee ;— 
Still slowly pass'd l^e melancholy day, 
And still the stranger wist not where to stray,— - 
The world was sad !«-the garden was a wild ! 
And man, the hermit, sigh'd— -till woman smiled ! 

True, the sad power to generous hearts may hriag 
Delirious anguish on his fiery wing ! 
BarrM from delight by fate's untimely handt 
By wealthless lot, or pitiless command ! 
Or doom'd to gaze on beauties that adorn 
The smile of triumph, or the frown of scorn ; 
While memory watehes o'er the sad review 
Of joys that faded like tfae BdofBijig d«w ! 



-_J 



or^HOPE. 953 

I'eace may depart*— and life and nature seent 
A barren path— a ^Idemesst s^nd dream ! 

But, can the noble mind for ever brood. 
The willing victim of a weary mood, 
On heartless cares that squander life away, 
And cloud young genius brightening into day % 
Shame to the coward thought that e'er betrayM 
The noon of manhood to a myrtle shade ! (a) 
If hope's creatiTe spirit cannot raise 
One trophy sacred to thy future days, 
Scorn the dull crowd that haunt the gloomy shrine 
Of hopeless love to murmur and repine ! 
But, should a sigh of milder mood express 
Thy heart-warm wishes, true to happiness. 
Should Heaven's fair harbinger delight to pour 
Her blissful visions on thy pensive hour, 
No tear to blot thy memory's pictured page, 
No fears but such as fancy can assuage ; 
Though thy wild heart some hapless hour may mise, 
The peaceful tenour of unvaried bliss, 
(For love pursues an ever-Hievious race. 
True to the winding lineaments of grace ;) 
Yet still may hope her talisman employ 
To snatch from heaven anticipated joy. 
And all her kindred energies impart. 
Tliat burn the brightest in the purest heart ! 

When first the Median's mimic art array'd 
The queen of beauty in her Cyprian shade, 

32 



354 THE PLEASURES 

The happy master mingled on his piece 

Each look that charmM him in the fair of Gieeee ! 

To faultless nature true, he stole a grace 

From every finer form and sweeter face ! 

And, as he sojourn'd on the ^gean isles, 

WooM all their love, and treasured all their smiles ! 

Then glowM the tints, pore, precious, and refined, 

And mortal charms seem'd heavenly when combined. 

Love on the picture smiled ! Expression pour'd 

Her mingling spirit there— and Greece adored ! 

So thy fair hand, enamour'd fancy ! gleans 
Thy treasured pictures of a thousand scenes ; 
Thy pencil traces on the lover's thought 
Some cottage hon\e, from towns and toils remote. 
Where love and lore may claim alternate hours. 
With peace embosom'd in Idalian bowers ; 
Remote from busy life's bewilderM way, 
O'er all his heart shall taste and beauty sway ; 
Free on the sunny slope, or winding shores 
With hermit steps to wander and adore ; 
There shall he love, when genial mom appears. 
Like pensive beauty smiling in her tears. 
To watch the brightening roses of the sky. 
And muse on nature with a poet's eye ! 
And when the sun's last splendour lights the deep. 
The woods^ and waves, and murmuring winds asleep; 
When fairy harps th' Hesperian planets hail. 
And the lone cuckoo sighs along the vale, 



OF HOPS. 255 

His paths shall be where streamy mountains swell 
Their shadowy grandeur o'er the narrow dell* 
"Where mouldering piles and forests intenrenQ^ 
Mingling with darker tints the liviDg green ! 
No circling. hills his ravish'd eye to bound, 
Heaven, earth, and ocean blazing all around ! 

The moon is up — the watch-tower dimly bunui— • 
And down the vale his sober step returns ; 
But pauses oft as winding rocks convey 
The still sweet fall of music far aWay ! 
And oft he lingers from his home a while 
To watch the dying notes ! — and start and smile ! 

Let winter come ! let polar spirits sweep 
The darkening world, and tempest-troubled deep ! 
Though boundless snows the withered heath defonn« 
And the dim sun scarce wanders through the storm ! 
Yet shall the smile of social love repay. 
With mental light, the melancholy day 2 
And, when its short and sullen noon is o*er, 
The ice-chain'd waters slumbering on the shore. 
How bright the fagots in his little hall 
Blaze on the hearth, and warm the pictured wall ! 

How blest he names, in love's familiar tone, 
The kind fair friend, by nature mark'd his own ! 
And, in the waveless mirror of his mind. 
Views ihe ^eet years of pleasure left behind, 



d56 THE PLEASURES 

Sinee Anna's empire o*er his heart began ! 
Since first he eall'd her his before the holy man ! 

Trim the gay taper in his rustic dome, 
And light the wintry paradise of home ! 
And let the half-uncurtain'd window hail 
Some wayworn man benighted in the vale ! 
Now^ whole the moaning night-wind rages high, 
As sweep the shot-stars down the troubled sky. 
While fiery hosts in heayen's wide circle play. 
And bathe in livid light the milky-way. 
Safe from the storm, the meteor, and the shower. 
Some pleasing page shall charm the solemn hour— - 
With pathos shall command, with wit beguile, 
A generous tear of anguish, or a smile-^ 
Th3^ woes, Arion ! and thy simple tale, (6) 
O'er tdl the h^art shall triumph and prevail ! 
CfaarabM as they read the verse too sadly true. 
How gallant Albert, and his weary crew. 
Heaved all their guns, their foundering bark to 

.save. 
And tdl'd— «Lnd shriekM-- and perishM on the wave ! 

T^ at the dead of night, by Lonna's steep. 
The seaman's cry was heard along the deep ; 
There^Mi his funeral waters dark and wild, 
The dying father blest his darling child ! 
O ! Mercy I shield her innocence, he cried. 
Spent on thfd prayer his bursting heart, and died ! 



OF HOPE. , 357 

Or will they learn how generous worth sublimes 
The robber Moor, (g) and pleads for all his crimes ! 
How poor Amelia kissM^ with many a tear, 
His hand blood-stain'd, but eyer, ever dear ! 
Hungr on the tortured bosom of her lord, 
And wept, and prayM perdition from his sword ! 
Nor sought in vain ! at that heart-piercing cry 
The strings of nature crack'd with agony 1 
He, with delirious laugh, the dagger hurlM, 
And burst the ties that bound him to the world ! 

Turn from his dying words, that smite with steel 
The shuddering thoughts, or mnd them on the wheel--— 
Turn to the gentler melodies that suit 
Thalia's harp, or Pan's Arcadian lute ; 
Or, down the stream of truth's historic page, 
From clime to clime descend, from age to age ! 

Yet there, perhaps, may darker scenes obtrude 
Than fancy fashions in her wildest mood ; 
There shall he pause, wi^ horrent brew, to rate 
What millions died-— *that Caesar might be grea^! (d) 
Or learn the fate that bleeding thousands bore, (e) 
March'd by their Charles to Dneiper's swampy shore; 
Faint in his wounds, and shirering in the blast, 
The Swedish soldier sunk-— and groan'd his last ! 
File afvsr file, the stormy showers benumb, 
Freeze every standard-sheet and hush the dram ! 
Horsemen and horse eonfess'd the bitter pang. 
And arms and warriors fell with hollow clang ! 

S9» 



359 THE PLEASURES 

Yet, eye he sunk in naitare's last repose, 
Ere lifers wAvm torrent to the fountain froze. 
The dying man to Sweden turnM his eye, 
Thought of hie home, and closed it witii a sigh ; 
Imperial pride look'd sullen on his plight, 
And Charles beheld— *nor shuddered at the sight! 

Above, below, in ocean, earth, and sky, 
Thy fairy worlds, imagination, lie, 
AAd hope afte&da, companion of the way. 
Thy dream by night, thy visions of the day ! 
In yoiider pensile orb, and every sphere, 
Thttt gems the starry girdle of the year ! 
In those unmeasured worlds, she bids Ihee telU 
Pure from their God, created millions dwell, 
Whose naiK^ and natures, tmreveal'd below, 
We yet shall learn and wonder as we know ; 
For as lona's saint, a giant form, (/) 
Throtied on her towers, conversing with the storm, 
(When o'er each Ranie altar, weed-entwined. 
The vesper deck tblis mournful to the wind,) 
CIduhts every wave-worn isle and mountain hoar 
Frotn Kilda to the green leme'^s shore; 
6^, i^h^tt tiiy pure and renovated mind 
This perishable dust hath left behind. 
Thy' (Seraph eye shall count the starry train. 
Like distant isles embosom'd in the main ; 
Rapt to ilie i^rine where motion first began. 
And li|^ and lilb in mingling torrents ran. 



OP ROPE. 959 

From whence each bright rotandity was hnrlM, 
The throne of God, — the centre of the world ! 

O ! Tainly wise, the moral muse hath sxtng 
That suasi^e hope hath but a siren tongue ! 
True ; she may sport with life's nntatorM day, 
Nor heed the solace of its last decay, 
The guileless heart her happy mansion spurn 
And, part like Ajut— never to return ! {g) 

But yet, methinks, when wisdom shall assuage 
The griefs and passions of our greener age. 
Though dull the close of life, and far away 
Each flower that hailM the dawning of the day ; 
. Yet o'er her lovely, hopes that once were dear. 
The time-taught spirit, pensive, not severe. 
With milder griefs her aged eye shall fill, 
And weep their fidsehood, though she love them still I 

Thus, with forgiving tears, and reconcOed, 
The king of Judali moumM his rebel child! 
Musing on days, when yet the guiltless boy 
Smiled on his sire, and filPd his heart with joy ! 
My Absalom ! (the voice of nature cried ;) 
O ! that for thee thy father could have died ! 
For bloody was the deed and rashly done. 
That slew my Absalom ! — my son !*-my son ! 

Unfading hope ; when life's last embers bunt, 
When soul to soul, and dust to dust return f 



260 THE PLEASURES 

Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour ! 
O ! then, thy kingdon^ comes ! Immortal Power ! 
What though each spark of earth-bom rapture fly 
The quiyering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye 
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey 
The morning dream of life's eternal day — 
Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin ! 
\nd all the phcBnix spirit burns within ! 

O ! deep enchanting prelude to repose, 
The d«wn of bliss, the twilight of our woes ! 
Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh, 
It is a dread and awful thing to die ! 
Mysterious worlds, uhtravell'd by the sun ! 
Where time's far-wandering tide has never run, 
From your unfathom'd shades, and viewless spheres, 
A warning comes, unheard by other ears. 
Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud, 
Like Sinai's thunder pealing from the cloud ! 
While nature hears, with terror-mingled trust. 
The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust; 
And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod 
The roaring waves, and call'd upon his God, 
With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss. 
And shrieks and hovers o'er the dark abyss ! 

Daughter of faith, awake, arise, illume 
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb ! 
Melt and dispel, ye spectre doubts, that roll 
Cimmerian darkness on ^he parting son] ! 



OF HOPE. 961 

Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay ; 
Chased on his night*8teed by the star of day ! 
The strife is o'er-^the pangs of nature close, 
And life's last rapture triumphs o*er her woes. 
Hark ! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze. 
The noon of heaven undazzled by the blaze, 
On heavenly winds that waft her to the sky, 
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody ; 
Wild as that hallow'd anthem sent to hail 
Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale. 
When Jordan hushM iris waves, and midnight still 
Watch'd on the holy towers of Zion hill ! 

^^ Soul of the just! companion of the dead! 
Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled ! 
Back to its heavenly source thy being goes. 
Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose ; 
Doom'd on his airy path a while to burn, 
And doomM, like thee, to travel and return- 
Hark! from the world's exploding centre driven. 
With sounds that shook the firmament of heaven, 
Careers the fiery giant, fast and far. 
On bickering wheels, and adamantine car; 
From planet whirl'd to planet more remote. 
He visits realms beyond the reach of thought ; 
But, wheeling homeward, when his course is run. 
Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun ! 
Bo hath the traveller of earth unfurl'd 
Her trembling wings emerging irom the world ; 



36d THE PLBASVRES 

And o^er the path by mortal never trod, 
Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God ! 

O ! lires there, Heaven ! beneath thy dread ex- 
panse. 
One hopeless, dark idolater of chance, 
Content to feed, with pleasures unrefined. 
The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind ; 
Who, mouldering earthward, 'reft of every trust, 
In joyless union wedded to the dust, 
Could all his parting energy dismiss, 
And call this barren world sufficient bliss ?— 
There live, alas ! of heaven-directed mien. 
Of cultured soul, and sapient eye serene. 
Who hailM thee, man ! the pilgrim of a day. 
Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay ! 
Frail as the leaf in autumn's yellow bower. 
Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower ! 
A friendless slave, a child without a sire. 
Whose mortal life, and momentary fire. 
Lights to the grave his chance-created form. 
As ocean wrecks illuminate the storm ; 
And when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er, 
To night and silence sink for evermore ! 

Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim^ 
Lights of the world, and demi-gods of fame 1 
Is this your triumph-— this your proud applause, ^ 
Children of truth, and champions of her cause ? 
For this hath science search'd on weary wing. 
By shore and sea— each mute and living thing) 



or HOPE. 363 

LaanchM with Iberians pilot from the steep, 

To worlds unknown, and isles beyond the deep T 

Or round the cope her living chariot driven, 

And wheelM in triumph through the signs of heaven 1 

O ! star-eyed science, hast thou wandered there, 
To wafl us home the message of despair 1 
Then bind &e palm, thy sage's brow to suit, 
Of blasted leaf, and death-distilling fruit ! 
Ah me ! the laurell'd wreath that murder rears. 
Blood-nursed, and water'd by the widow's tears, 
Seems not so foal, so tainted, and so dread. 
As waves the night-shade round the sceptic head ; 
What is the bigot's torch, the tyrant's chain T 
I smile on death, if heaven-ward hope remain ! 
But, if the warring winds of nature's strife 
Be all the faithless charter of my life, 
If chance awaked, inexorable power ! 
This frail and feverish being of an hour, 
Doom'd o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep^ 
Swift as the tempest travels on the deep. 
To know delight but by her parting smile, 
And toil, and wish, and weep a little while ; 
Then melt, ye elements, that form'd in vain 
This troubled pulse and visionary brain ! 
Fade, ye wild-flowers, memorials of my doom ! 
And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb ! 
Truth, ever lovely, since the world began, 
The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man^— 



!d64 THE PLEASURE S 

How can thy words from bidiny slumbers start 
Reposing virtue, pillow'd on the heart ! 
Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder roUM, 
And that were true which nature never told, 
Let wisdom smile not on her conquer'd field; 
No rapture dawiis, no pleasure is reveaPd ! 
O ! let her read, nor loudly, nor elate, 
The doom that bars us from a better fate ; 
But, sad as angels for the good man's -sin, 
Weep to record, and blush to give it in ! 

And well may doubt, the mother of dismay, 
Pause at her martyr's tomb, and read the lay. 
Down by the wilds of yon deserted vale. 
It darkly hints a melancholy tale ! 
There, as the homeless madman sits alone. 
In hollow winds he hears a spirit moan ! 
And there, they say, a wizard orgie crowds, 
When the moon lights her watch-tower in the clouds. 
Poor, lost Alonzo ! Fate's neglected child ! 
Mild be the doom of Heaven— as thou wert mild ! 
For O ! thy heart in holy mould was cast. 
And all thy deeds were blameless but the last. 
Poor, lost Alonzo! still I seem to hear 
The clod that struck thy hollow-sounding bier ! 
When fViendship paid, in speechless sorrow drown'd, 
Thy midtiight rites, but not on hallow'd ground ! 

Cease eveipy joy to glimmer on my nuBd, 
But leave— O ! leave the light of hope behind ! 



J 

\ 



OF HOP£. 265 

What thoogb Biy winged hoars of blis8 have been^ 

Like angel yisits* few, and far between! 

Her musing mood shall every pang appease, 

And charm— *when pleasures lose the power to please ! 

Yes ! let^each rapture, dear to nature, flee ; 
Close not the light of fortune's stormy sea- 
Mirth, music, friendship, Idve's propitious smile 
Chase every care, and charm a little while, 
Ecstatic throbs the fluttering heart employ. 
And all her strings are harmonized to joy !— • 
But why 80 short is lovo's delighted hour 1 
Why fades the dew on beauty's sweetest flower I 
Why can no hymned charm of music heal 
The sleepless woes impassion'd spirits feel ? 
Can fancy's fairy hands no veil create. 
To hide the sad realities of fate 1— 

No ! not the quaint remark, the sapient rule. 
Nor a)l the pride of wisdom's worldly school. 
Have power to soothe, unaided and alone. 
The heart that vibrates to a feeling tone ! 
When step^ame nature every bliss recalls. 
Fleet as the meteor o'er the desert falls ; 
When 'reft of all, yon widow 'd sire appears 
A lonely, hermit in the val^ of years ; 
Say, can the world one joyous thought bestow 
To friendship, weeping at the couch of wo ! 
No ! but a brighter soothes the last adieu,— 
-Souls of impassion'd mould, she speaks to you, 

23 



366 THE PI^VASITRES 

Weop not, she says, at nature's transient pain. 
Congenial spirits part to meet again!-— 

What plaintive sobs thy filial spirit drew, 
What sorrow choked thy long and last adieu, 
Daughter of Conrad ! when he heard his knell, 
And bade his country and his child farewell ! 
Doom'd the long isles of Sydney Core to see, 
The martyr of his crimes, but true to thee ! 
Thrice the sad father tore thee from his heart, 
And thrice returnM, to bless thee and to part ; 
Thrice from his trembling lips he murmur'd low 
The plaint that ownM unutterable wo ; 
Till faith, preyailing o'er his sullen doom, 
As bursts the morn on night's unfathom'd gloom. 
Lured his dim eye to deathless hopes sublime, 
Beyond the realms of nature and of time ! 

*< And weep not thus, (he cried,) young Ell«ioie, 
My bosom bleeds, but soon shall bleed no more ! 
Short shall this half-extinguish'd spirit burn, 
And soon these limbs to kindred dust return ! 
But not, my child, with life's precarious fire, 
Th' immortal ties of nature shall expire ; i 

These shall resist the triumph of decay 
When time is o'er, and worlds hare pass'd away ! 
Cold in the dust this perish'd heart may lie, I 

But that which warm'd it once shall never die I I 

That spark unburied in its mortal frame, J 

With living light, eternal and the same, I 



or HOP I. M7 

Shall beam on joy^s iaterminable years, 
UnveilM by darkness— unassuaged by tears ! 

** Yet on that barren shore and stormy deep, . 
One tedious watch is Conrad doom'd to weep ; 
Bat when I gain the home without a friend. 
And press th' uneasy couch where none attend, 
This last embrace, still cherish'd in my heart, 
Shall calm the struggling spirit ere it part ! 
Thy darling form shall seem to hover nigh. 
And hush the groan of life's lai^t agony ! 

**Farewein when strangers lift thy father's bier. 
And place my nameless stone without a tear ; 
When each returning pledge hath told my q^ild 
That Conrad's tomb is on the desert piled ; 
And when the dream of troubled fancy sees 
Its lonely rank grass waving in the breeze ; 
Who then will soothe thy grief when mine is o'er 1 
Who will protect thee, helpless Ellenore % 
Shall secret scenes thy filial sorrows hide, 
Scorn'd by the world, to factious guilt allied ? 
Ah ! no : methinks the generous and the good 
Will woo thee from the shades of solitude ! 
O'er friendless grief compassion shall awake. 
And smile on innocence, for mercy's sake !" 

Inspiring thought of rapture yet to be, 
The tears of love were hopeless, but for thee ! 



I, 



988 PLBA8URB8 OF HOPE. 

If in that frame no deathless spirit dwell, 

If that faint munnnr be the last farewell ! 

If fate unite the faithful but to part, 

Why is their memory sacred to tiie heart 1 

Why does the brother of my childhood seem 

Restored a while in every pleasing dteam % 

Why do I joy the lonely spot to view. 

By artless friendship bless'd when life was new t 

Eternal h<^e1 when yonder spheres sublime 
.Pealed their first notes to sound the march of time, 
Thy joyous youth began — but not to fade. 
When all the sister Janets have decayM ; 
When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow," 
And heaven's last thunder shakes the woild below. 
Thou, undismayM, shalt o'er the ruins smile, 
ilnd light thy torch at nature's funeral pile ! 



1 



NOTES 

TO 

PLEASURES OT HOPE. 

t 

PART II. 



Note (a.) The noon of manhood to a myrtle shade! 
Sacred to Venus is the myrtle shade. — Dryden, 

Note (6.) Thy woes, Arion! 

Falconer, in his poem, Tke Shipwreck, speaks of himself by 
the name of Arion. See Falconer's Shipwreck, Canto III. 

Note(c) The robber Moor. 
See Schiller's tragedy- of the Robber, scene v. 

Nofe (<i) What millions died that Cnsar might be great. 
The carnage occasioned by the wars of Julius Ciesar has 
been usually estimated at two millions of men. 

NoCe (e.) Or learn the fate that bleeding thousands bore, 

March'd by their Charles to Dneiper's swampy shore. 

In this extremity, (says the biographer of Charles XII. of 
Sweden, speaking of his military exploits before the battle 
of Pultowa,) the memorable winter of 1709, which was still 
more riemarkable in that part of Europe than in France, de- 
stroyed numbers of his troops : for Charles resolved to braye 
the seasons as he had done his enemies, and ventured to 
make long marches during this mortal cold. It was in one 
of these marches that two thousand men fell down dead with 
cold, before his eyes. 

23* 369 



I 



] 

970 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

Note(/.) Aa on lona'fl height. 
The natives of the island of lona have an opinion, that on 
certain evenings every year, the tutelary saint Colmnba is 
seen on the top of the church spires, counting the surround- 
ing islands, to see that they have not been sunk by the power 
of witchcraft 

Note <^.) And part, like Ajut,— never to return. 
See the history of Ajut and Anningait, in the Rambler. i 



M'HENRY'S 

PLEASURES OF FRIENDSHIP. 

IN TWO PARTS. 



971 



\ 



MEMOIR 

OF 

JAMES MCHENRY,. M.D. 



[The author of the subjoined memoir of Dr. M'Heniy, is a 
gentleman of the bar, of much literary experience, residing 
in Philadelphia. To him the publisher is also indebted for 
tiie Dissertation on the poem of ** The J^leasures of Friend- 
ship," presented to the readers of this volume. Long inti- 
macy with the poet peculiarly fitted him for writing the 
memoir, while a thorough aoquaintanee with poetical litera- 
ture eminently qualified him for writing the dissertation.*— 

PUBXJSHEB.] 



Jambs M^Henrt was bom on the dOth December, 
1785, in the town of Larne, county of Antrim, lie- 
land. After the death of his father, which happened 
in his twelfth year, he resided some years with a 
Presbyterian clergyman, under whose tuition he ob- 
tained a knowledge of the Latin and Greek languages, 
and whose character he has portrayed with much 
feeling in the poem of " The Pleasures of Friend- 
ship.'^ Having when very young received an injury 
of the spine, it became necessary that, in the choice 
of a profession, he should select one which required 

373 



A 



374 MEMOIR OF M«HBNRT. 

liuU physical exertion. It was the wish of his mo- 
ther that he should become a minister of the Pie/sby- 
terian church. His own inclination induced him to 
prefer the medical profession; and after the usual 
course of preparatory studies, he received a diploma 
from the medical faculty of the city of Glasgow. More 
recently an honorary degree in medicine was confened 
upon him by the Washington College at Baltimore, 
under circumstances peculiarly gratifying to him and 
honourable to that institution. In 1811 he entered 
upon the practice of his profession in Lame. Soon 
afterwards he married, and remoTed to Belfast, where 
he continued in practice several years. In 1814, he 
became the editor of a literary journal published in 
that town, to which James Sheridan Knowles, the 
distinguished dramatic writer, was "a contributor. 

In 1817, Dr. M^Henry came with his family to the 
United States, and resided for a short time at Orwigs- 
burg, in Pennsylvania. From that place he removed 
to Harmony, a vOlage of Butler county in the same 
state. 

The -comparative retirement in which he there lived, 
afforded him both opportunities and inducements for 
the gratification of his taste in literature. These op- 
portunities were not such as are afforded the classical 
student and the man of elegant leisure, who have con- 
stant access to large, well selected libraries, and en- 
joy so many other advantages in the prosecution of 
their literary lesean^es and labours, in refined and 
popttkms cities. They were those which the man of 



MIMOIR OF M'HENRT' S75 

contemplatire, inqairing, and calti^ated mind will 
always^ seek and discover, in whaterer situation be 
may be placed. The library of Dr. M'Henry, although 
not large, was chosen with discrimination and taste. 
By the training which he had received in academical 
studies, by his subsequent judicious reading, and long 
continued habits of reflection, and still more by his 
dose and philosophical obsenration.of menin all their 
varieties of character, and in all the conditions and cir« 
cumstances of society, his mind had been well pre- 
pared for the production of whatever literary works 
he might project^ and to the proper execution of which 
those advantages could be applied. The wild and 
romantic nature of the part of the country in which 
he resided, and the secluded mode of life which it in> 
duced, were peculiarly favourable to the indulgence 
of his literary disposition. By the terms wildness 
and romance are not invariably to be understood the 
rude, grotesque, and stem forms which material crea- 
tion bears,' or the rare and wonderful and varied ap- 
pearance which external things assume. The un- 
adorned and simple appearance of nature supplies 
ebundant objects to gratify and charm the outward 
eye, and equally abundant themes for inward contem- 
plation. The lofty mountain and gloomy forest, the 
impetuous river, the deep rugged glen, and the culti- 
vated field and meadow, or the moderately swoln emi- 
nence, the gentle rivulet, the little, open wood, and the 
untilled, or des(4ate heath, are, to the eye of the true 
poet and the ardent admirer of nature,, equally attract- 



376 MCMOIR OF M'HIVRT* 

ive, and equally susceptible of the embeUiSfament 
which his genius or his enthasiasm can impart lo 
the delineation of them. 

The country by which Dr. M'Henry was sorroimd- 
ed in his new residence, did not, in its entire appear* 
ance, combine all the attributes of grandeur which the 
enthufilastic Totary of stem and savage nature requires 
to form his scenes of perfect sublimity and romance. 
But it was sufficienUy wild and sequestered to be 
adapted to his poetical taste ; and the leisure which 
he frequently enjoyed from the performance of his 
professional duties, enabled him to indulge his attach* 
ment to general literature. But it is not the visible 
aspect of nature which always suggests the best 
themes for poetical contemplation. It may, indeed, 
when the mind is predisposed to poetical feelings, 
increase the ardour with which they are indulged, or 
impart strength and fervency to the inspiration from 
which they derive their eidstenee. Although the 
grand and nobler features which nature displays, may, 
in some degree, produce thk effect on those by whom 
they are properly appreciated, they rarely or never 
exercise so much influence over Ihe mind of the poet, 
as to subject it entirely to them, or to create the high 
and sublime conceptions from which ihe immortal 
productions of poetry deduce their origin. It ifl Hke 
deep and secret sources of his own thought, the glow- 
ing and involuntary outpourings of his genius, that 
produce the intense and indefinable emoticms, which, 
when embodied in appropriate language, possess so 



MEMOIR OF M^HEMRT. 277 

many charms for the unsophisticated heart, aad exert 
such resistless power over the discriminating mind. 
The internal springs by which his reflections and feel*- 
ings are set in motion, frequently obey the mysterious 
impulses which they receive from the sublime and 
beautiful conformations of ontward objects, with whieh 
his own nature sympathizes, and to which he traces 
many of his purest and loftiest contemplations. But 
some of the most splendid and popular poetical 
works which have appeared in ancient or modem 
times, have no doubt been suggested by adventitioas 
circumstances. Such circumstances, in themselves uor 
important, but acting on minds peculiarly constituted, 
and enabled, by the vivacity and promptness of their 
action, to render them subser?ient to their purposes, 
have been eagerly seized and appropriated to liie Bat' 
vice of the muse, to which intellectual capacity leas 
vigorous or less alert would not have considered 
them adapted. , 

It -is to one of these accidental ciicumstances that 
the production of *^ The Pleasures of Friendship" is to 
be ascribed. The ineonsideraUe village in which the 
^author lived, contained a population too small to affefd 
much of that spedes of social intercourse which he 
wished to enjoy. In.tiie year 1819, before he had 
established an intuooacy with even those few iahi^ 
bitaias whose acquaintance he was desiroaa of enlt^ 
vatui^, both he and his wife were, at the same 
time, attacked by sev^e indisposition. Hiii dis- 
ease, which was a violent rheumatisn^ CQHtittiiQd 

24 



978 MicMoiRor m^henry 

for several weeks. The only domestic whom he 
had been able to procure, suddenly abandoned hie 
service, and he was left in his helpless condition, with 
a sick wife, and two young children, destitute of ne- 
cessary household assistance. Had he been residing 
in his native country, his friends and relatives and 
neighbours would have hastened to oflfer him their 
sympathy and their benevolent offices. But in the 
wild and sequestered region to which he had recently 
removed, he was almost an entire stranger, and was 
destitute of many of the resources which more enlarged 
and refined society affords, and of the sympathies by 
which his physical and mental sufferings might have 
been alleviated. In the desponding state of mind 
which his forlorn situation induced, and after all the 
limited means of amusement which the little village 
wheie he lived afforded, were exhausted, his thoughts 
often reverted to the home of his nativity, and to the 
scenes of happiness which he had there enjoyed. He 
was thus insensibly led to the consideration of the 
pleasures which are derived from the mutual attach- 
ment of intimate friends. To divert his attention from 
the gloomy reflections which preyed upon him, and 
to engage his mind in more agreeable employment 
than ^ey afforded, he wrote the poem of *^The Plea- 
sures of Friendship,'* the subject of which was so 
appropriate to his feelings, and so congenial to the 
sentiments which his situation naturally suggteted. 
The first edition of this work, which consisted of only 
five hundred copies, was published at Pittsburg, wl^ 



MEMOIR OF M'HBNRT. 979 

no expectation of its circulation ever extending beyoikd 
the vicinity of tiiat place. The poem, although thus 
first presented to public attention in a remote inland 
town, where general literature and poetical taste were 
but little cultivated, soon became known, and in 
proportion as a knowledge of it extended, its popu- 
larity increased. Since its first appearance in 1632, 
nine editions of it, including those issued on both 
sides of the Atlantic, have been published^ 

During his residence in Butler county. Dr. M* Henry, 
besides '^The Pleasures of Friendship," vrrote the 
novels of « O'Halloran" and "The Hearts of Steel." 
Several occasional poetical pieces, which he vinrote at 
the same place, have been published in the Tolume 
that contains hie principal poem. He remained at Har- 
mony about four years, and then removed to Pittsburg; 
which he left in 1833, for Philadelphia, where he now 
resides. His poem of" Waltham," and his novels of 
" The Wilderness" and " The Spectre of the Forest," 
were written in Pittsburg. " The Wilderness" was 
published in New York, in the spring of 1823, and 
**The Spectre of the Forest," in the writing of which 
only seven weeks were occupied, first appeared in 
that jcity, in the autumn -of the same year. 

Not long after Dr. M'Henry's removal to Philadel- 
phia, the proprietor of the American Monthly Maga- 
zine, a periodical work published there, engaged his 
services as its editor. He soon terminated his con- 
nexion with it, in consequence of a visit to Irdand, 
which was rendered necessary by business that rd- 



9S0 MEMOIR OF M^HXNRT. 

quired his attention, and the publication of the Maga- 
zine was discontinoed. Subsequently to his return from 
that country to Philadelphia, which occurred in the 
spring* of 1836, he wrote in that city the tragedies of 
** The Usurper" and " Wyoming," and the novels of 
•*The Betrothed of Wyoming" and " Meredith." 

Both of the tragedies were performed in Pliiladel- 
phia. ** The Usurper," and the two novels last men- 
tioned, were published in the same city. 

The first poetical effusion of Dr.*M'Henry, which 
appeared in public, was that entitled **The Maid 
of Tobergell." This piece was published in 1804, in 
a Belfast newspaper, and attracted the attention of the 
celebrated Dr. Percy, Bishop of Dromore, who was so 
much pleased with it, that he invited the author to his 
house, encouraged him to persevere in his poetical 
pursuits, and induced him to publish in Belfast, a 
small collection of poetry, under the title of ** The Bard 
of Erin, and other Poems." This publication procured 
for the author much attention, and many warm friends 
among the admirers of poetical literature in the north 
of Ireland. He was then, however, too deeply en- 
gaged in professional studies, to pursue a poetical 
career. At least, he appears, for a number of years 
following, to have sought no poetical notoriety. It 
was about this period, that he became acquainted 
with the lady to whom he alludes in many of his 
poetical pieces, under the name of Ellen, and of 
whose character and destiny he has given an acconnt 
in the tale entitled ** Ellen Stanley, or the Victim of 



MBMOIR or M^HBNRY. 381 

y&nity,*' which was inserted, some years ago, in a 
periodical work published in Philadelphia. 

Literature, as a profession, although it affords pow- 
erful incentives and enviable rewards to those who 
engage* in it, subjects them to the influence of pecu- 
liar and inevitable circumstances, which it requires 
all their enthusiasm to induce them to encounter. The 
ment^ labour which they undergo, arduous and unre- 
mitted as it is, constitutes but a small part of the dif- 
ficulties which they must surmount, before they can 
secure the honourable reputation, which is the object, 
and one of the best recompenses of their exertions. 

It is not alMTays the good fortune of literary men to 
receive the approbation of those by whom their efforts 
are examined and judged. They are still more rarely so 
fortunate as to be living auditors of their own praisey 
and to'be pronounced by their contemporaries deserving 
of the approbation, to obtain which their long and ardu- 
ous exertions have been made. Few of them escape the 
censure which prejudice or ignorance, malice or envy, 
casts upon their reputation ; and still fewer overcome 
all obstacles io their permanent renown. 

It will not be considered unjust to others, to assert 
that Dr. M'^enry has both deserved and obtained a de- 
gree of applause as a poet, which has not been exceeded 
by that which has been given to many of the best 
poetical writers of the present age. ** The Pleasures 
of Friendship'' may, with strict regard to truth, be 
said to have successfully endured the test of protracted 
time and of rigid criticism. The numerous editions 

24* 



38S MEMOIR OF MCHENRY. 

in wiiich it has appeared, would afford ample eridence 
of its merit, eiren if its own intrinsic qualities did not 
render it worthy of high and long-continued favour. 
That many of his productions, first issued in the 
United States, have been reprinted in London, and 
that <* O'Halloran,'' one of his novels, has been included 
in Whittingham's edition of standard English novels, 
published in that great metropolis of literature, are 
ciieumiitances which certainly indicate, if they do not 
prove, tiiat he has acquired a literary character, which 
mlty* with justice, be considered well earned and ho- 
nourable. 

Although Dr. M'Henry has not recently published 
any avowed production, he has been a frequent contri- 
butor to many of the public journals. Many articles, 
written by him, which excited much attention, were 
inserted in the American Quarterly Review, while that 
wolrk was edited by Mr. Walsh. He is at present 
engaged in the preparation of several works for the 
press, on subjects of interest, the appearance of which 
may «oon be expected. 

March, 1838. 



DISSERTATION 

ON THC 

POEM OF THE PLEASURES OP PJOENDSHIP. 



The moral sensations and affections aiford the most 
attractive and exhaustless subjects upon which the 
poet can exercise his genius. The inflnence which 
they exert over mankind, in every sphere of life and 
in all conditions of society, enables him to derive from 
them the most efficacious means of obtaining general 
attention to his labours. To this cause may be as- 
cribed the success of those who, in their poetical 
writings, have appealed directly to the heart, and by 
arousing its strong but generous passions, touching 
its sympathies, or soothing its sorrows, hav^ taught 
men to look into themselves, and mad& them familiar 
with their moral nature. 

The principal object of the poet is to please, 'fb 
effect this object, he must choose subjects which axe, 
in themselves, agreeable. If he involve his readers 
in metaphysical subtleties, he either wearies them by 
subjecting the mind to difficulties in discovering his 
meaning, or disgusts ihem by the pertinacity with 

283 



384 DISSERTATION ON T H JE 

which he endeavours to lead them through intricacies 
in which they are reluctant or unahle to follow him. 
The metaphysical ohscurities of Donne and Cowley, 
and of their imitators, prevented the poetical celehrity 
which tiiey once enjoyed, from becoming general and 
permanent. Their fame has been obscured by the 
light which a better taste than theirs has difiused. 
The sublime yet lucid conceptions of Milton ; the vi- 
gorous judgment, chastened imagination, and melli- 
fluous verse of Pope ; the ease, simplicity, and grace 
of Goldsmith ; the familiar, but glowing images, and 
polished language of Thomson ; and the unsophisti- 
cated feeling and artlessness of Burns, have preserved 
the just celebrity of those writers unimpaired. They 
sought and found the true source of poetical excel- 
lence in the unadulterated impulses of the heart. Na- 
ture was their infallible guide. They invoked her 
spirit, and under her direction they achieved the 
works which have rendered their names immortal. 

Sincere, ardent, and lasting friendship — that attach- 
ment which is formed by congeniality of sentiment, 
and which endures through all the vicissitudes of 
fortune, too seldom exists in an artificial state of so- 
ciety, in which the selfish passions are arrayed against 
the kind and gentle feelings, and men are taught to 
consider their interests adverse and irreconcilable. 
The opinion which Pope expressed in his last mo- 
ments, that nothing but virtue and friendship possess 
any merit, and that friendship itself is only a part of 
virtue, may not be generally Admitted as strictly cor- 



PLEASURES OF FRIENDSHIP. S85 

rect. But who will deny that friendship, when it is 
disinterested, contributes to the happiness of those by 
whom it is mutually cherished ; that it alleyiates, if 
it does not remove afflictions; and that it sheds a 
cheering light through the clouds of sorrow and mis- 
fortune by which human life is so often overcast t 
The consolations which it affords, in the most gloomy 
circumstances of existence, are indicated in the fixst 
paragraph of *' The Pleasures of Friendship :'' 

" On human kind, when pitying Heaven surveyM 
The iron hand of stern affliction laid ; 
When toil and sorrow all their powers combined 
To crush the body, and o'erwhelm the mind i 

. From what blest source was then ordain 'd to flow 
The soothing cordial of the deepest wo ? 
From thee, sweet friendship ! from thy magic smile 
Then flow'd the power each sorrow to beguile^ 
The wounds of pain and fortune to repair, 
And smooth the passage through a life of c&re.** 

Metaphorical language is peculiarly adapted to 
poetry. The facility with which the poet is enabled 
by a prompt and fertile genius, to discover similitudes 
between mental impressions and visible objects, often 
induces him to imagine resemblances which have no 
actual existence. Whoever endeavours, constantly, 
and with avidity, to find connexions between abstract 
ideas and external appearances, will often strain lan- 
guage beyond its strength, and distort images from 
their proper and natural forms. The author of " The 
Pleasures of Friendship'^ has avoided these errors, in 



386 DISSERTATION ON T IfT 

making a comparison between the inilaence of the 
sun and that of the feeling which is the subject of 
his poem. The effects which the power of thsit lumi- 
nary produces on outward creatioji in the respeo* 
tiire seasons of the year, and those which are caused 
by friendship at different periods of life, are well de- 
scribed in the poem ; and the 'Comparison which they 
afford is introdaced with much propriety. The warmth 
and freshness which are imparted to vegetable nature 
in the spring, by the visible source of heat and light ; 
the fertility and beauty which it bestows in summer ; 
the mild effulgence and ripened abundance which it 
yields in autumn ; and the cheerfulness which it sheds 
upon the dreary aspect of winter, are all appropriate 
to the subject of the poem. Childhood, youth, man- 
hood, and old age derive from the Inflaenee of friend- 
ship advantages which, at those periods of existence, 
are received and enjoyed with as much delight as ex- 
ternal nature may be supposed to experience from the 
presence of the sun in the different seasons. 

The consolatory influenee which friendship exerts 
over the mind of one who is suffering from disease, 
at a distance from his friends and his native country, 
is thus well described in the poem : — 

^ From thy blest smile what soothiog power can flow. 
Attendant angel on the couch of wo ! 
Ou yon poor wanderer in a forei^ land, 
La ! harsh disease has laid his torturing hand, 
Each limb is rack'd with unremitting pain. 
And quenchless fever fires his throbbing brain, 



1>LCA8UBB8 OF FRIBNDSHIP. 1^ 

While on his wishes none are found to wait. 
Save hireling strangers, careless of his fate. 
Should he, ev'n he, while sinking in despair. 
Remember home, and all his friendships there. 
The pleasing thought can calm the fever's rage, 
Swe^ hope inspire, and agony assuage ; 
But O ! if fortune to his ear should send 
Th* endearing accents of a youthful friend. 
The well known voice would drive his cares away. 
Bid pleasure's smile o*er all his features playy 
Arrest the progress of destroying pain. 
And snatch the victim back to life again." 

The following passage may be qaoted for its poeti- 
cal beanty, and the moral truth of the sentiment 
which it contains : — 

*< Yes, there are men, benevolence may trust. 
Whose hearts are faithful and whose aims are just ; 
Whose liberal minds extend to all the race. 
Whose acts redeem the species from disgrace. 
And who, enamour'd of fair virtue's charms. 
With warm affection spread their ardent anns. 
To all whose bosoms can with theirs combine 
In generous acts and charity divine." 

The ejQfect of Mendship upon human character 
is not less salutary than the influence which it exer- 
cises over moral feeling To dissuade the unwary 
from yielding to vicious allurements, and to encourage 
than in the practice of virtue, are duties incumbent 
upon friendship, from the fulfilment of which the 
most desirable enjoyments are derived, Th^ gene- 



388 DISSERTATION ON TflE. 

roas office which it assumes for the parpoee of pro- 
dacing these results, is thus referred to in the poem :— 

*< ! as along life's stormy vale I stray. 
Be friendBhip still companion of my way ; 
Then when temptation shall her arts prepare. 
And spread her golden nets, my feet to snare, 
My watchful guide shall warn me of her toils, 
And safe convey me from the siren's wiles," &c. 

4 

The pleasure which results from literary puniuits, 
is increased by the congeniality of sentiment and the 
similarity of taste of those who are engaged in them. 
By^ communicating their ideas to each other, subject- 
ing them to the test of investigation, and modifying 
them according to its results, the mind receives new 
.impulses to activity, while the affections are more 
closely blended by the influence of sympathy. The 
poem thus refers to these effects :— 

" Produce the taper at the twilight hour. 
And 3'ield the soul to friendship's social power } 
Let memory there her richest stores supply 
Of song or tale, to bid the moments fly $ 
And though the wintry tempests rage the while. 
Domestic legends shall the night beguile. 
Or Utenry taste its channs impart 
To please the &ncy and improve the heart'; 
Or disputation's friendly power delight. 
Inform the mind, or set the judgment right." 

The poem concludes with the expression of a senti- 
ment, which is strictly consistent with the dignity and 
importance of the subject :-— 



PLBASVRBS OF FRIENDSHIP. 989 

*< When all sublunar Joys and griefs are o'er, 
When nature feels her latest pang no more ; 
When this fair world and yonder orbs of fire 
Shall hear th' Almighty thunder, and expire ! 
O ! then, in realms where Hope's illusive ray 
Shall yield to joy'ff interminable day 5 
Where Memory's power no feelings shall renew. 
But such as spring from scenes of loveliest hue $ 
Where Fancy's visions never shall employ 
One charm, unmingled with the purest joy ; — 
Blest Friendship ever unimpair'd shall dwell. 
And with warm influence of celestial spell. 
Divinely charm each sainted heart above, 
And teach the sons of Heaven immortal love.*' 

This passage contains nothing which does not 
merit the approbation of the most rigid moralist and 
the most scrupulous Christian. What it asserts is 
contrary neither to philosophy nor to Christianity. 
We may, without doing violence to moral propriety, 
or to scriptural truth, believe that the results which it 
anticipates, will, at the appointed time, be the termi- 
nation of all the cares and joys, the hopes and the 
fancies, which checker and perplex the scene of mor- 
tal existence. . i 

The selection of a proper subject is a consideration 
of great importance to the poet. If he choose one 
that is trifling or mean, his genius, however brilliant, 
may be unable to invest it with interest. The weed 
which springs up in a grarden, may not, itself, be an 
object of disgust or contempt ; but it becomes ridicu- 
lous when a writer attempts, by pompous language 

25 



d90 



DISSERTATION ON THE 



and overwrought images, to make it as attractive as 
the flowers by which it is surrounded. The efforts of 
those who endeavour to impart to trivial subjects, a 
degree of importance which they cannot justly claim, 
will always be unsuccessfuL Butterflies and moths, 
a blade of grass or a withered rose, may supply an 
appropriate theme for a fugitive verse, or a stanza, as 
insignificant as themselves. But he who aspires to 
the honours of the poet, and deserves them, will dis- 
dain to waste his energies upon subjects that are be- 
neath his genius. 

Perspicuity in writing is an object not less import- 
ant than the judicious choice of a subject. The poet 
should consider it indispensable. Whatever dignity 
his subject may possess, or with whatever other at- 
tractions he may adorn it, if his work be deficient in 
clearness, the praise which he might otherwise re- 
ceive, will be denied him. Obscurity in the ideas or 
in the language of a writer, whether of prose or poetry^ 
Is a fault for which no splendour of genius or beauty 
of diction can atone. Poetry is, peculiarly, a species 
of composition which requires a rapid, smooth current 
of thought and expression to bear the reader insensibly 
and agreeably onward, and a clear, constant light to 
guide him in his course. It does not admit of the 
minute logical arguments and the profound metaphy- 
sical abstractions, which are adapted to prose writiogSi 
in the perusal of which the mind may pause to reflect 
and to reason. Poetical writings are resorted to father 
as a relaxation from severe intellectual labour^ and 



PLEASURES OF FRIENDSHIP. 291 

as a SQurce of rational entertainment, than for the 
purpose of acquiring abstruse information. It was a 
prevalent and a fatal error of the writers who are de- 
signated as metaphysical poets, that they pertinacious- 
ly sought for images which were, in themselves, inap- 
propriate, and in their nature inconsistent with each 
other, as well as with the ideas which they attached 
to them ; and that they so involved them in quaintness 
of language as to render them obscure or unintelligi- 
ble. Those who imitated these affected writers when 
their celebrity was at its height, and others who 
continued to imitate them after it had irretrievably 
fallen, erroneously supposed that turns of thought, 
because they are unusual^ must be admirable and at- 
tractive; that antiquated words and phrases, and 
ambiguity and involution of expression, indicate su- 
perior genius. 

But nothing imparts to poetry a greater charm than 
good versification. The misapprehension or disregard 
of this requisite, was an error of the metaphysical 
poets, as detrimental to their reputation, as that which 
they committed by persisting in the use of strained 
conceits, unnatural imagery, and affected diction. Dr. 
Johnson, in his Life of Cowley, observes that their 
verses *' stood the trial of the finger better than of the 
ear ; for the modulation was so imperfect, that they 
Were found (o be verses only by counting the sylla^ 
bles.** Even that degree of praise is hardly merited 
by the metaphysical ihymers of the present day. 
Their syllables are not always controlled by the 



292 DISSERTATION ON THE 

authority of the fingers, and their verse ofl^n falls 
upon the ear with a sountl which is the reTeise of 
melody. These are faults which the improTod and 
improving taste of the age will rebuke, and compel 
those who commit them to amend, or to relinquish 
their hopes of obtaining great and permanent popu- 
larity. No poet, who is not assiduously careful in 
the observance of rhythm, can be long or justly popn* 
lar. The very nature of poetry renders it indispensa* 
ble that it should flow in an even, unobstructed stream ; 
that there should be nothing in it grating to the ear ; 
and that the lines, throughout, but especially in their 
termination, should be smooth and sonorous. 

The principles of correct versification have their 
origin in good sense and pure taste. They depend, 
for their improvement and perfection, upon the exer- 
cise of cultivated judgment and an ear accustomed to 
the accurate modulations of sound. Melody and har- 
mony, which are intimately connected with each 
other, constitute an essential part of versification. 
Compared with these, the most glowing language and 
the most sublime imagery are unimportant ; and with- 
out them, what is termed poetry, is nothing but prose 
arranged in measured lines. Accents, cadences, and 
pauses must all be placed with strict regard to metri- 
cal numbers ; and yet they should be so introduced 
into the work of the poet as to i^>pear only incidental 
to its design. There must be a regularity and a d^n- 
tinuous flow in the language, by which the reader is 
carried forward rapidly, smoothly, and without effort. 



PLEASURES or FRIENDSHIP. 293 

The lines should not move heavily or languidly, hut 
with energy and vivacity ; and although the sounds 
may not always he an echo to the sense, they should 
respond to it with so much exactness as to be in just 
unison with it, and not to create in the mind any dis- 
cordant sensation. To produce these results, proso- 
dial quantities must he strictly observed; for how- 
ever artificial the rules which prescribe them may 
appear, those rules are founded in nature, and ap- 
proved by sound judgment and taste. An acquaint- 
ance with them, although it is not sufficient to form a 
poet, is a part of knowledge with which he cannot dis- 
pense. Whether they are derived from nature, or have 
been devised by art, he cannot neglect them consistently 
with his desire for the reputation to which he aspires. 
The same distinguished writer and literary critic, 
whose opinion on the subject of versification has been 
referred to in this dissertation, asserts, that '* however 
minute the employment may appear of analyzing lines 
into syllables, and whatever ridicule may be incurred 
by a solemn deliberation upon accents and pauses, it 
is certain that, without this petty knowledge, no man 
can be a poet ;" and, *' that verse may be melodious 
and pleasing, it is necessary, not only that the words 
be so arranged as that the accent may fall on its pro- 
per place, but that the syllables themselves be so 
chosen as to flow smoothly into one another." Lines 
and syllables constitute, when arranged in regular 
order, and according to metrical rules, the exterior 
form of poetry; and accents, cadences, and pauses 

35* 



•9i DISSERTATION ON THE 

direct the reader in its penisal. They ought, there- 
fore, to be considered the poetical body into which 
genius infuses a vivifying spirit. The easy and grace- 
ful flow of words and syllables, or of entire lines, is as 
necessary to the nature of true poetry, as ideas and 
language are to a writer of prose. 

A subject important and interesting, perspicuity of 
ideas and language, and animated and smooth versifi* 
cation, qualities which are indispensable to poetry, are 
all exemplified in the poem of ^^ The Pleasures of 
Friendship.'* Its theme is one, which all who pro- 
perly appreciate amiable feelings, not only approve, 
bat contemplate with intense interest True friend- 
ship is not temporary in its nature, or limited in its 
capacity for diffusion. Its duration is as permanent 
as that of the natural existence of those who are sus- 
ceptible of it, and coextensive with the space which 
they occupy in the world. The ties by which it 
unites them in sentiments and objects, and the sym- 
pathies that it excites and cherishes, render it a sub- 
ject of peculiar importance and attraction. Its attri- 
butes and tendencies are enumerated and illustrated 
by the author of this poem on the pleasures which it 
affords, with truth, propriety, and spirit. Avoiding 
the speculations into which his subject might so 
readily have seduced him, he has confined himself to 
a plain and simple, yet a dignified and rational expo- 
sition of the moral susceptibilities from which friend- 
ship derives its existence, and a brief, comprehensive, 
4Md accurate analysis of the modes in which they 



PLEASURES OF FRIENDSHIP. 996 

exercise their influence. In his poem there are no com- 
plicated and subtle processes of reasoning ; no abstruse 
or perplexed ideas ; no obscure or ambiguous phrases. 
His thoughts flow in an easy, a full, and a clear 
stream ; and his language, unaffected and appropriate^ 
accords with thera, and with the nature of the feeling 
which he has adopted as his theme. 

One of the principal merits of this poem, is the 
power which it exerts of affecting the heart by ap- 
pealing to the mild and amiable feelings. But much 
of its attraction is aacribable to the accuracy and 
beauty of its versification. In the perusal of it, the 
eye is not offended by inaccuracies in the construction 
or arrangement of the lines, nor is the ear shocked by 
harshness of language, the injudicious use of metrical 
quantities, or the erroneous placing of accents and 
pauses. The cadences are regulated in accordance 
with rhythmical propriety, and the rules of melody 
and harmony are well observed. The sense of om 
couplet is not often made to depend on that of an* 
other by which it is succeeded ; nor are the lines ren« 
dered rough and unmusical by running into each other. 
In regular and long poems, these are merits which 
writers, even when possessed of great genius and 
learning, do not always display. The most ardent 
mind may, occasionally, become languid, and intermit 
its efforts in the course of protracted poetical composi- 
tion. The most accurate and practised ear may some- 
times become inattentive or indifferent to the observ- 
ance of a reiterated and regular recurrence of sounds 



296 DI9dBRTATI0N, ETC. 

and their Tarious modifications. The difficulty of 
sustaining, throughout a poem of considerable extent, 
an unabated fervency of feeling, and a uniform strain 
of mellifluous versification, renders the merit of those 
by whom it is surmounted, much greater than is 
generally acknowledged. The popularity which has 
been acquired and retained by the poem of ''The 
Pleasures of Friendship," may in a great degree be 
ascribed to the correctness and melody of its numbers. 
Whatever importance may be attached to the subject 
of it, and with- whatever general ability that subject 
has been treated, the poem itself would not possess 
the extensive and well established reputation which 
it enjoys, did it not display more than ordinary merit 
in its versification. The caprices of opinion may 
make poetical productions acceptable or attractive to 
those who are swayed by those caprices, rather than 
by their own mature and deliberate judgment. They 
may even give to a poet a celebrity, which can endure 
only while the fluctuating currents of fashion continue 
to flow in a certain direction. But the steady and in- 
variable principles of correct literary taste are the best 
depositories to which the fame of the real poet can be 
intrusted. It is on these that the poem of ''The 
Pleasures of Friendship" must depend for the dura- 
tion of ife popularity ; and in their conservative care, 
its author may with confidence place his reputation. 



THE PLEASURES OF FRIENDSHIP, 

PAKT I. 



The fiirst consideration of the poem is the merciful dispen- 
satioD of the Deity, in endowing the human mind with those 
feelings which constitute friendship, in order to fiirnish an 
emollient for every species of af9iction. — A parallel is then 
drawn between the effects of the sun on the different seasons 
of the year, and those of friendship on the corresponding 
periods of life. The death of Abel, the first instance of any 
breach of friendship among men, is alluded to, as introducing 
the curse pronounced at the fall upon Adam and his pos- 
terity. — ^Friendship considered as one of the joys of heaven.— 
The earliest of the nobler feelings experienced in the days of 
childhood. The pleasing effects of youthful friendship when 
reflected on in old age. — The advantage of possessing a true 
and active friend, when overtaken by misfortune, illustrated 
in the episode of M ontalbot and Connor.— <The soothing ef- 
fects of friendship in sickness and exile. — ^Its influence in 
rendering us resigned to death, exemplified in the story of 
Jacob and Joseph. — The power of confidential friendship, in 
relieving the pain which arises from the concealment of pas- 
sion or the indulgence of remorse. The happy effects of a 
friendly emulation in the acquirement of any science or pro- 
fession. — Apostrophe to emulation. — Improvement in the 
various branches of knowledge, and in the arts and profes- 
sions cultivated by men, figuratively considered as the off- 

397 



998 PLCA8URB8 OF FRIENDSHIP. 

spring of a union between friendship and emulation. — ^Th« 
pleasure of reflecting abroad upon our friends at home, in- 
stanced in the meditations of a sailor, when in the lonely 
situation of keeping watch by night.-— The consolations of 
this feeling to negroes in a state of slavery.— The miserable 
condition of Christian slaves in the Barbary States. — ^Two 
instances given of the exertions of benevolence in their be- 
half : the first, that of Mr. Willshire in favour of Captain 
Riley and his fellow sufferers ; the second, that of the British 
government, in the memorable expedition against Algiers in 
the year 1816, commanded by Lord Exmouth, which com- 
pelled the latter power to liberate, without ransom, all the 
Christian slaves in its possession, and to agree that all Chris- 
tians captured in battle, should, for the future, be treated as 
the European nations treat their prisoners of war. 



— * - »• 



THE 

PLEASURES OF FRIENDSHIP. 

PART L 



On human kind when pitying Heaven sunreyM 
The iron hand of stern affliction laid ; 
When toil and sorrow all their powers combined 
To crush the body and overwhelm the mind ; 
From what blest source was then ordain'd to flow 
The soothing cordial of the deepest wo ? 
From thee, sweet Friendship ! from thy magic smile 
Then flowM the power each sorrow to beguile ; 
The wounds of pain and fortune to repair, 
And smooth the passage through a life of care ! 

'Tis yonder sun, when blooms the beauteous spring, 
That bids the yalleys smile, the woodlands sing ; 
When summer scenes their splendid charms display. 
He gires effulgence to the ardent day ; 
And he, when autumn's mellow stores appear, 
Affords the bounties of the ripen'd year ; 
From him proceeds, when wintry blasts alarm, 
What power still aged nature has to charm ! 

399 



300 THE PLEASURES 

* 

Thus friendship bids the days of childhood smile 
With many a softenM scene, and artless wile ; 
And when the warmth of youthful vigour glows, 
Affection's sympathizing throb bestows ; 
And yields each joy that in the bosom blooms 
When the ripe mind its mellow'd form assumes ; 
And in that season, when to hoary years 
No glowing scene of gay delight appears. 
No charms are felt but what from friendship flow— 
The glorious sun of human life below ! 

Dire was the hour when shuddering nature saw 
The first sad breach e'er made in friendship's law ! 
The world still smiled with boundless charms in store, 
Aiid man was blest though Eden was no more ! 
For sweet affection led him on the way. 
And clothed in beauty each succeeding day ; 
Till Abel's blood made heavenly vengeance glow, 
And show'd that friendship had on earth a foe ! 
Till then fell not the curse of guilt on man, 
And first from friendship's wounds mortality began. 

O ! with what pangs the father of our race, 
Bewail'd his own and nature's dire disgrace ! 
** My BOD," he cried, '' my righteous Abel bleeds, 
Slain by his sire's and by his brother's deeds ! 
Ah ! this is death ! that death which heaven hath 

sworn. 
For nqr aocurst tnuisgrflasion must be borne ! 



or FRIENDSBIP. ^OL' 

On me 9^Qne should all the veageanoe fall ;•*- 
But O ! Hwill crush my children !— crush them all I** 
He said, and sunk in agonizing grief, 
The first of human sinners, not the chief! 

Friendship ! to thee unsullied joys belong, 
Joys that can bless e*en heaven's immortal throng. 
In those bright realms, so rich in every joy^ 
That hope herself would but the bliss annoy, 
(For hope, where'er she comes, however fair» 
Still fear, th' attendant of her path, is there,) 
Angelic hosts affection's raptures prove. 
And holy anthems tell their mutual love ! 
Fair friendship binds the whole celestial frame. 
For love in heavon and friendship are the same. 

Stem of delight ! endearing is thy power, 
When vernal age first spreads its opening flower : 
In that soft season, when, to nature new. 
Each passing .scene delights the wondering view; 
When young ideas fill the vacant mind 
With sweet surprise and pleasure unconfined ; 
When restless thought, to quick transition prone, 
TmpMient roams till every charm be known; 
Thy smiles alone the truant can' arrest. 
And fix some young associate in the breast. 

Yes ; fira( of all the heaven-descended train 
Of man's superior joys, begins thy reign, 

26 



J 



303 THE PLEASURES 

Fair friendship ! soyereign of the soothing sway 

That charms onr toils, and drives our cares away. 

For long ere love, with raptures ne'er express'd. 

And hlissful anguish, fires the throbbing breast ; 

Ere fimcy's pencil paints a scene more gay 

Than that experienced in the blest to-day ; 

Ere hope's fond visions to the mind reveal 

Those future raptures that it ne'er shall feel. 

Like midnight meteors, with deceitful ray. 

That promise morn when mom is far away ; 

Ere memory's wand, with backward touch benign, 

Can make the past with lovelier lustre shine ; 

Ere wisdom, like the polar star, can guide 

Towards tiie path where lasting joys abide ; 

Ere bright religion, with persuasive voice. 

Can make tb' unfading bliss of heaven our choice ;— 

Congenial friendship brings the potent spell. 

To bid the young affections softly swell. 

The sweets of fond society impart. 

Whose cordial balm exhilarates the heart ! 

And say, when age, with retrospective view. 
Surveys the tender years when life was new. 
When the young mind felt e'en this world could bless. 
Nor wish'd a happier Eden to possess ; 
Of all the joys in memory's magic store, 
So oft with fond endearment counted o'er, 
What can the heart to equal rapture warm, 
With those to which affection gave the charm ! 



or FRIENDSHIP. 303 

How warmly cherished, with a deep lepret, . 

Our heart's first friend, whom we can ne'er fdurfet ! 

Still lightly o'er the lawn we see him bound. 

And with exulting bosom leap the mound. 

We glow to think, when rural feats were done, , 

With him th' applause, alternately, we won. 

Though in the race victorious he was named. 

We justly still the prize of combat daim'd ; 

Still to a greater height we urged the ball. 

Though he with surer aim could meet its fall. 

Oft down the glen together have we stray'd. 

To watch our snares for fawns or foxes laid ; 

Oft speut whole days in consultation deep. 

How most secure the linnet's nest to keep ; 

Or joy'd the woodland echoes to awake, 

Or roused the victim plover from the brake ; 

Or mark'd the hawk, the pirate of the sky. 

And let the leaden vengeance on him fly. 

Oft by the river's brink we took our stand. 

And drew the agitated fry to land ; 

Or trimm'd our bounding skifif with easy sail. 

And lightly scudded with a pleasant gale. 

Or thence retiring to domestic bowers. 

While young imagination charm'd the hours, 

Arabian genii all their terrors spread, 

And wonder swell'd our bosoms while we read : 

Or haply, with a nobler flame we glow. 

Inspired to bold adventure by De Foe! 

How brightly bloom'd the interesting isle. 

And danger charm'd us with attractive smile! 



dd4 tHE I^LSASURftft 

O days tyeloved 1 when innocenee and ]oy 
The l^om fiU'd, and filled without alloy ! 
No grief we moaniM on stern misfortune buttt, 
We knew no sorrow, for we knew no guilt. 
. O ! recollection's sweetest, fairest charm, 
That still has power each languid pulse to wavm^ 
Without thy bright, invigorating ray. 
Life would be lassitude and dull decay. 
When I forget thee, O my earliest friend, 
Joy shall be lost, and memory at an end ! 
Though many a year of toil has crept between 
Those glowing days and age's tasteless scene ; 
Though sever'd now by many a different clime, 
Gay, fertile vale, and hoary mount sublime ; 
Though doomM by fate, perhaps, to meet no mote. 
And live again our days of pleasure o^er ; 
Still, when my daily prayers to Heaven ascend, 
I beg for blessings on my earliest friend ; 
While memory owns that friendship's smile be- 
stows 
The brigiitest charm her magic mirror shows. 

Angelic soother of the troubled breast! 
Thy smiles can charm the fiercest grief to rest. 
When struck to earth by stem misfortune's blow, 
O'erwhelm'd with anguish, penury, and wo. 
All comforts fied, e'en flatterers disappear. 
Ah ! then how sweet thy whisperings to our ear !- 
Thy gentle voice can bid our spirits rise, 
And hope's blest visions brighten in our eyes; 



OP FRIENDSHIP. 305 

And, like the beacon^s light that gleams afar 
To midnight sailors as their guardian star, 
Thy sympathizing glance dispels our fears, 
And safe to port our foundering vessel steers. 

To all the depths of misery consignM, 
Wounded in body, agonized in mind, 
Montalbot lay, the victim of despair. 
And wish'd the grave would give him refuge there. 

On Liffey's bank the rural mansion stood ; 
Fair was the vale, romantic was the wood. 
Sublime the mountain, and the hand of taste 
With fairy loveliness the landscape graced. 
Respected, affluent, blest with letterM ease. 
And cheerful mind that taught each toil to please^ 
A sweet and virtuous fair his wishes crownM, 
With mutual love in blissful union bound ; 
And in two lovely babes his raptured heart 
Enjoy 'd a charm the world could' ne'er impart:— 
But, ah ! too soon misfortune's tempest rose. 
And bade the scene of short enjoyment close ! 
Deep-stainM with blood, rebellion rear'd his head. 
And death and desolation round him spread. 

Before the eve of that eventful day. 
Whose dawn had found thee happy, fond, and gay, 
Spouse of Montalbot ! how thy bosom bled. 
As min, death, and horror round thee spread ! 

26* 



306 THE PLEASURES 

In vain thy husband's high-born courage rose, 
To check the whelming tide of ruffian foes-^ 
Vain were thy tears and loveliness to melt 
Barbarian hearts that pity never felt. 
The spreading flames of ruin raged around, 
And devastation smoked along the ground ; 
And, streaming by the fagot's blaze, is shown 
That blood to thee far dearer than thy own ! 
With frantic speed thy close embrace repress'd 
Thy life-stream issuing from thy husband's breast, 
And with an agony of zeal to save, 
Strain'd to thy bosom, held him from the grave ! 

But, ah ! fond woman, what avails thy care ? 
Think'st thou such barbarous foes e'er learn'd to spare ! 
Montalbot, know, it is their stern decree. 
To-morrow dies upon the gallows-tree ! 
Wilt thou implore his life 1 Ah ! will thy tears 
Persuade the stubborn heart a savage bears ? 
Stem to their purpose, lo ! thy foes remain. 
And love, and grief, and beauty plead in vaifi ! 

Lol where Montalbot, weltering in his gore. 
Lies on a wretched hovel's swampy floor ; 
His bosom stung with horror, pain, and grief. 
He longs for death to give his woes relief; — 
Whan Connor came, who had that day afar, 
In other fields, led forth the rebel war. 
At his comnand the captive was unbound, 
His frame refresh'd, and soothed was every wound. 



OF FRIENDSHIP. 307 

He then with sympathizing voice began 
To speak of comfort to the wretched man : 

*^ Arise, Montalbot! let thy griefs be o'er; 
No hostile hand shall dare to harm thee more : 
What I command my followers obey, 
Appointed o'er their hardy ranks to sway. 
Think not, because my hostile banners wave 
Their emerald bloom, proud England's power to brave ; 
Nor think, becaase to patriot feelings true, 
Bold insurrection's sword I strongly drew ; 
And fired with zeal my country's wrongs to right, 
I lead her valiant natives to the fight,-*- 
That e'er those happier times I shall forget, 
When, first in scenes of youthful joy we met; 
When, in Eblana's academic shade, 
Through fragrant bowers of classic lore we stray'd ; 
Or in those paths where science strews her friiit. 
With glowing bosoms bent our fond pursuit, 
And strove, with all the energy of youth. 
To shine in knowledge, manliness, and truth. 
O ! by those scenes we ne'er shall witness more,—* 
By that perpetual friendship which we swore. 
No party rage, no warmth of public strife, 
Shall dare attack thy property or life ; 
Thy Connor's zurm protection will afford, 
And happiness to thee shall be restored. 
O ! if my friend our patriot cause would join. 
What glory should be his, what pleasure mine I 



308 THE PLEASURES 

But here no force thy sentiments shall move,— 
Be free to act as conscience may approve." 

** My generous friend !" the rescaed captive said, 
" By warmth of heart to error's path betray'd, 
O that I could conviction's light bestow 
On thee, to whom the boon of life I owe ! 
O that I could from wisdom snatch a ray 
To lure thee from the dangers of thy way !<— 
But, while with gratitude my bosom glows. 
It is not mine thy errors to expose. — 
Yet should misfortune's clouds around thee lower, 
May I be near to shield thee in that hour ! 
When victory smiles on England's sacred cause. 
And thou be yielded to offended laws, 
On me, on me thy safety shall depend ; 
Our king shall know thou wert Montalbot's friend !" 

Ere twice yon moon her fulness had attain'd. 
At judgment's bar young Connor was arraign'd : 
His crimes are proved ; the awful hour is nigh. 
Decreed by rigid law that he shall die. 
That hour is come — ^tears moisten every face. 
Death's slow procession moves with solemn pace. 
The muffled music stops its mournful sound. 
And numerous guards the fatal tree surround : — 
When, mark ! yen horseman flashes o'er the plain — 
Less swift the tempest hurries o'er the main ; 
The foaming steed now rushes through the crowd— 
The agitated rider shouts aloud, 



or FIIIEND8HIP. 900 

" A paidon to the prisoner— to my friend !** 
At once the air a thousand voices rend. 
Montalbot swift displays, with joyfal face, 
The pleasing instrament of royal grace ; 
And, biieathless, hastes the captive to untie, 
Falls on his neck, and sobs aloud for joy. 

" I thank thee. Heaven ! the trying hour is o*er ; 
The storm is weather'd, may it rage no more ! 
Restored to life, O ! never let us part. 
Of all my friends thou dearest to my heart ! 
Let us retire afar from party strife, 
To the deep vale of sweet domestic life ; 
And while along the stream of time we glide, 
O ! may the chart of wisdom be our guide ! 
And wMle w^glow with patriotic zeal, 
As Erin's children should for Erin's weal. 
May our example to her sons display 
The blessings to be found in virtue's way ! 
O ! may we feel that as our years increase. 
Our best ambition is the love of peace ; 
That patriotism, when rightly understood. 
Is that warm feeling for our neighbour's good. 
Which like the fertilizing showers of spring. 
That bid the blooming vales with gladness ring. 
With active influence prospers all around. 
And is with blessings of the poor man crown'd ; 
And feels from friendship's generous bosom rise 
The best and noblest joys the world supplies !" 



310 THE PLEASURES 

From tbj blest smile what soothing power on 
flow, 
Attendant angel on the couch of wo ! 
On yon poor wanderer in a foreign land, 
Lo ! harsh disease has laid his torturing hand : 
Each limb is rack'd with unremitting pain. 
And qaenchless fever fires his throbbing brain ; 
While on his wishes none are found to wait, 
Save hireling strangers careless of his fate :«- 
Should he, ev'n he, while sinking in despair, 
Remember home and all his friendships there. 
The pleasing thought can calm the foyer's rage. 
Sweet hope inspire, and agony assuage. 
But, O ! If fortune to his ear should send 
Th' endearing accents of a youthful friend, 
The well-known voice would drive his^ares away, 
Bid pleasure's smile o'er all his features play. 
Arrest the progress of destroying pain. 
And snatch the victim back to life again ! 

Or if the winged soul be doom'd to fly 
The troubled precincts of mortality ; 
While o'er her brittle tenement of clay. 
She fondly lingers, anxious to delay ; 
For the dear objects of her hopes and fears. 
The loves and friendships of her busy yesurs. 
She feels with magic force around her twined. 
And sighs— compell'd to leave them all behind ! 
O ! if some friend that gave her youth delight. 
Should chance ev'n now to bless her anxious sight — 



OP FRIENDSHIP. 311 

Some friend, who absent long, and far remote. 
Had ne'er by warm affection been forgot ; 
What pleasure to her parting flight is given ! 
Rejoiced she quits the world, and mounts to heaven ! 

Thus, Israel, who, with unavailing tears. 
Had spent a length of melancholy years ; 
While Joseph's long-lost form his fancy drew. 
Grief was the only luxury he knew ! 
Naught could the sorrows of his soul abate-— 
His child was gone, uncertain was his fate ! 
With hopes and fears in long continued strife. 
The mournful patriarch clung to wretched life : 
When Heaven at length restored the darling boy, 
And his heart flow'd with gratitude and joy, 
" My God," he cried, " now let thy will be done ! 
I die contented — ^I have seen my son !' 



r»» 



Ah ! still, when secret sorrows rend the heart. 
When hidden passions sting with bitter smart. 
Or sharp remorse, for deeds or thoughts conceal'd. 
Bids all the soul to inward torture yield — 
The friendly bosom that can share our grief, 
Is the best sanctuary to yield relief. 
To quench the fiery aspect of despair. 
And ease the labouring mind of half its care ! 

When the warm glow of love's delicious fires. 
The ardent soul of melting youth inspires ; 
Ere yet he dares with trembling heart disclose 
To beauty's ear the fervour of his woes ; 



919 THB PLKA8URV8 

When to the covert of the woods he flies, 

In nature's silent shades to yent his sighs ; 

Or on the brink of some lone stream reclined, 

Breathes on the whispering gale his bursting mind; 

Or haply while around from every spray. 

The woodland warblers pour th' enamour'd lay, 

With kindred flame he imitates ihe strain. 

And woos the willing muse to soothe his paint—- 

O ! then, how sweet if to' some friendly ear, 

Which with soft sympathy his tale will hear, 

He can reveal the sonows of his breast. 

And lull with fond complaints his griefs to rest ! 

Or he who, yielding in temptation's day, 
Had in the paths of sinners gone astray, 
Awakes at length, his guilty course restrains. 
And the great conquest of his passions gains ; 
Should he, while time with constant step proceeds, 
Still sicken at the memory of his deeds. 
Nor find in penitence a suasive balm, 
The stormy feelings of his soul to calm, — 
Then let some friend, with potent aid impart 
The boon of comfort to his wounded heart, 
And bring a draught divine from mercy's store, 
To bid the stricken conscience grieve no more ! 

When youth, engaged in education's cares, 
To act his part in future life prepares ; 
If manly wishes in his bosom swell 
In every bright attainment to excel. 



or FRIBNDSHIP. 313 

He soon selects, to raise his flagging powers, 
Some fond companion of bis studious hours. 
Whose learning, genius, conduct, he admires. 
And warm fctt equal excellence aspires ; 
While noble pride and emulative zeal 
Bid his friend'a mind a rival ardour feel ; 
And each a loved and bright example views, 
That gilds the course his kindled soul pursnes. 
No jealous hatred in their bosoms bums ; 
They love, admire, and emulate, by turns. 
And when at last they try the stormy world. 
The chart of knowledge to their eyes unfurl'd. 
They heave a sigh of manly grief to part, 
And bear through life the friendship of the heart. 

Come, emulafion ! on thy dazzling wing ; 
Thy favourite child, improvement, with thee bring; 
And while mankind her brilliant acts admire, 
Do thou proclaim that friendship is her sire. 
Inspired by thee, with ardent mind he strove 
To imitate thy deeds — ^and gainM thy love ! 
Together join'd, ye dare the heaviest toil 
Required by science on her sternest soil : 
Whether with Newton to the heavens ye sosr. 
And, ranging boundless nature o'er and o'et, 
Detect the laws that own creative might. 
That wing the comet for his airy flight. 
That rule th' expanse of planetary space. 
And bind tiie dieling orbits in their place : 

98 



314 THE PLEASURES 

Or thence descending, let the Swedish sage 
In fields of fragrant flowers your thoughts engage^ 
With pleasing care their characters are known, 
And all their charms and virtues made your own ! 

Perhaps, attracted by the arts, ye^stray 
To Rosa's shades, or Titian's brighter ray ; 
And pause where'er the human •face appears 
Array'd in mimic smiles, or bathed in tears : 
O ! seize the charms bright fancy's colours giVe, 
And bid the canvass, warm with nature, live ! 

Or seek yon ancient dome,* whose roof beneath, 
The marble seems in human form to breathe. 
And there inspire a throb to genius true, 
And bid your chisel be immortal too ! 

< 

Lo! to your eyes the chy mist's art unfolds 
The wondrous secrets nature's bosom holds! 
At your command expands her hidden store, 
And treasures spring the world ne'er saw before! 
Her laws, obedient to your potent skill. 
Perform a new creation at your will ; 
While men admire, as your bright arts disclose 
The mighty power the arm of science knows ! 

Now, warm with patriotic fervour, try 
To plead your country's cause with energy ; 



>* 



* Westminster Abbey. 



OF FRIENDSHIP. 316 

The pablie Tolce will hait your bri^t eaxeer, 
And senates listen with delighted ear, 
Or learn the arts triumphant fields hare won» 
And rival Europe's victor, Wellington ! 

Or for snblimer themes will ye prepare, 
And n^ake th' immortal souls of men your care 1 
Your heaven^born eloquence shall strongly move 
The wandering heart, and fix its views above; 
On darkiing spirits pour celestial day, 
And warm the troubled soul with mercy's ray ! 
The sceptic's breast with Christian zeal shall 

glow, 
And stubborn bosoms sweet compassion know. 
As from your lips descends the godlike strain ; 
And Kirwan's mighty power is felt again ! 

At silent midnight's meditative hour. 
The watchful seaman feels thy cheering power, 
Inspiring friendship t as he views from far. 
Heaven's azare circle gemm'd with many a star ;»— * 
Yon wandering orb, night's cold but lovely queen. 
Illumes the sky, and gilds the watery scene; 
The stately vessel spreads the waving sail. 
To catch each impulse of th' unsteady gale: 
In thoughtful mood reclining o'er her side. 
He views her progress through th' expanding tide, 
AnA sighs to think, as o'er each wave she moves. 
She bears him farther still from those he lores ! 



316 TBI PLKA8UBB8 

But, yifildinf toon to fiuicy'a sweet cdmmand, 
He visits once again his natire land ; 
Again the haunts <^ yonthfnl pleasnie Tiews, 
Again the throb of past delight renews, 
Again the fields of pural sports are seen. 
The blooming meadows and the smiling green ; 
The sacred walk to friendship long consigned. 
The spot where lore first fired his youthful mind ! 
Lo ! now the sire who taught his youth appears, 
And, hark ! his mother's honour'd voice he hears ! 
The brothers, sisters, that his childhood blest. 
Once more are welcomed, and once more caressM ; 
The female charmer of his soul again 
Is to his bosom claspM with raptured strain ; 
With warmth he pours the fulness of his heart, 
Renews his vows and pledgee ne'er to part. 
But, O ! what holier feeling can allure, 
Less warm, perhaps than We, but, ah! more 

pure. 
To seek the well-known cottage which contains 
The fiiend long faithful to his joys and pains ! 
That Ibnd embrace, how ardyt and sincere ! 
Those looks, that voice of confidence how dear ! 
Truth's purest throb within his bosom glows. 
And the full measure of his feelings flows. 
As, all disclosed to friendship's secret ear, 
He tells each joy and grief, each hope and fear ; 
And thns unburden'd feels pr^ared to try 
Life's nigged road with greater buoyancy. 



or .FRIENDSHIP* 317 

O ! as along life's stonny vale I stray. 
Be friendship still companion' of my way ! 
Then when temptation shall her arts prepare, 
And spread her golden nets my feet to snare, 
My watchful guide shall warn me of her toils. 
And safe conrey me from the siren's wiles.—- • 
Or should misfortune's harsher hand employ 
Those darts that wound the soul, and peace destroy, 
With loss of property or health dlstress'd. 
Or by the malice of mankind oppress'd, 
To thy sweet power, when whelming ills invade, 
O ! blissful friendship ! then I fly for aid ; 
For thou art true, though. all the world deceive, 
Still wise to counsel, ready to relieve,. 
Design'd by Heaven, from whom thy virtues flow. 
The chief ambassador of good below ! 

In those bright islands of the western main. 
Where Europe's sons, allured by thiji^t of gain. 
With venturous spirit tempt the torrid sky. 
Rise swift to fortune, sicken, faint, and die, . 
The Negro, seei by traded unfeeling powor, 
Tom from his home, and sweet paternal bower ; 
Where issuing oft he shone with manly grace, ^ 
And led his fellow Negproes to the chase ! 
Or wheU) his country battles to sustain. 
His arm was wanted on the hostile plain, 
He led her warlike tribes, a patriot band. 
Engaged her foes, and drove them from the land ! 

S8* 



318 THE PLEASURES 

O ! then what rapture blest his high career. 
When burst the son^ of victory on his ear, 
When maidens praised the deeds his arm had dooe, 
And crownM him with the wreath his yalonr won ! 
Ah ! little thought Laongo^s chief that day, 
That, %ound with chains, in regions far away, 
Those buoyant limbs should e'er the seoarge sustain, 
These sinewy arms increase a miser's gain ;— 
That form, disposed in nature's hardiest mood, 
To range the forest or to stem the flood ; 
That ffeeborn mind of bold and generous frame, 
That keenly felt ambition's noble flame,— < 
Should toil to gratify a stranger's will, 
Or, bow'd to earth, the trembling task fulfil! 
Where yoked with brutes he works the stubborn soil, 
Or, sick and fainting, respite begs from toil ; 
Ev'n there, in lingering misery's last excess. 
Can friendship oome with sovereign power to bless ;*— 
For, lo ! he marks among th' afliicted train. 
One fellow saflTerer from Laongo's plain. 
Whose tears with his in sympathy can flow, 
Whose ear will listen to hiff-plaint of wo, 
Whose heart deplores the sorrows of his ohie^ 
And, wlule he shares them, longs to give relief! 

In converse oft, when daily toll they end, 
How cheering to the soul the hours they spend ! 
How oft they tell the ever-pleasing tale 
Of times long past in Mr Laongo's vale ! 



or FRIENDSHIP. 319 

The chase, die feast, the song are brought to mindf— 
The loves, the joys, the fri^iidships left behind ; 
Memory's sweet opiate soothes them to repose. 
And into short oblivion lulls their woes. 
Affection thus can soften ev^ pain ; 
Grief rends the heart which friendship binds a^^ain* 

So nature, when in wintry fetters bound, 
The streams, the hills, and valleys frozen round, 
Feels the warm influence of the southern wind. 
And heaven's meridian rays her chains unbind : 
With sudden life, earth's opening charms appear. 
And spring to hail the renovating year. 
But, ah ! short-lived the glories they assume*^ 
The north again blows wild and nips their bloooi ! 
Again sdbmitting to th' inclement sky, 
They fiml, they shrink, they shiver, and th^y die t 

In fair Europa's civilized domain. 
Where learning, arts, and arms unrivaU'd vaigB, 
Is there no generous power for virtue stiong 1 
O ! if there is, why does it sleep so long. 
When tier lost sons in wretched thousands lie 
Beneath the murderous Moor's barbarity t 
Or wliere fierce Lybians, with fanatic seal. 
Apply to Christian nerves the torturing steet 1 
Hark ! bound and buffeted, in yondsr walls. 
In vain yon helpless man for mercy calls ; 
He writhes in agony beneath the rod, 
Still fkithfui to his country and his God ! 



IPiHiP^P^^^^^V^^^^'^^^^'^P 



990 THE. PLEASURES 

His heart may burst, his flesh consame away. 
But virtue sfiall survive the bitter day ! 
The threats, the stripes, the tortures, he disdains ; 
Peace dwells within, for conseience still remains ! 
Lo ! here, where every terror is array M, 
Where nature shrinks, and courage is dismayM, 
Blest friendship comes, and on seraphic wing 
The unexpected ransom loves to bring. 
With smiles to cheer the features of despaif. 
And ease the lacerated heart of care ! 
So Mercy's angel flew, at Heaven's command. 
To bring relief to Israel's suffering land. 
He found her sunk in slavery's dark abyss. 
And waved his wand her sorrows to dismiss. 
Her fisllen tribes felt courage at the sight. 
And rose enthusiasts for their country's right ! 
Their bonds were burst, their tyrants overthrown, 
And Gideon's fiery swojd triumphant shone j 

Long « hapless Riley ! long thy bosom bled. 
As faint and weary o'er the desert led. 
The savage Arabs urged thy painful way, 
And mock'd thy feeble frame that begg'd delay. 
How flow'd thy anguish at th' appalling view. 
As fimiine daily thinn'd thy wretched crew ! 
How oft for death thy harass'd bosom prayed, 
Ab to the dust thy sinking soul was weigh'd ! 
Till to a Briton's ear thy sorrows came, 
And on his heart impress'd a brother's claim. 



OF rRIBNDSHlP. 9il 

What blissful throbs thy grateful bosom knew, 
When to thy aid on pity's wings he flew, 
And bade, with generous warmth, thy sufferings end| 
And haird thee as a freeman and a friend ! 

Yes, Britain's star shall shine with glorious ny, 
As when avenging Bona's bloody day ; 
When Algiers saw destruction's arm rereal'd. 
And her proud battlements constrain'd to yield ; 
When solemn pledge her trembling rulers gave. 
Her soil no more should hold a Christian slave; 
When issuing forth from many a loathsome cell, 
Her famish'd captives bade their chains farewell, 
And turning from their tyrants, proud no more, 
Hail'd their deliverers from Britannia's shore. 
Whose mighty power had broke th' oppressor's chaiB, 
And freedom, life, and joy restored again ! 
O ! with what joy Pellew's brave bosom beat, 
What thrilling transport ran through all his fleet, 
As from their decks the gallant victors see 
The tyrants humbled, and the captives free ! 
Of either sex, from every Christian land. 
What grateful thousands crowd along the strand. 
Who soon on board are welcomed and caress'd. 
And many a Briton strains a Briton's breast ! 

Thus ardent glows the grateful virgin's mind. 
When, on her brave deliverer's neck reclined. 
She thanks that courage which had dared the W8 
And boldly snatch'd her from a watery grave. 



3SS PLEASURES OF FRIENDSHIP. 

Thus thrills with ecstacj the raptared swain, 
As the sweet form he rescued from the main, 
Is closely to his gallant hosom prest, 
And warm approving conscience makes him blest ! 

May Britain's cross, the world's transcendent star. 
Still in the cause of mercy shine afar ! 
Still bid mankind their fearless tenor keep. 
On the broad land, or on the boundless deep ; 
And cleanse each stain her own bright lustre knows, 
India's deep wrongs, and Afric's bitter woes ! 
And tell the lawless plunderers of mankind, 
^' Here end your course, and thither be confined !'* 



■\ 



TIIE PLEASURES OF FRIENDSfflP. 

PART n. 



The assertion so frequently made by cold-hearted reasoners* 
that human nature is incapable of true friendship, refuted.— 
Howard's philanthropy.— Apostrophe to charity.-^The pain- 
ful disappointments often experienced from haying placed 
confidence in false friends, no proof against the existence of 
true friendship.— Elxamples of the latter. — ^Portrait of a be- 
nevolent clergjrman, deceased, who was one of the author's 
earliest friends, and his instructer in the ancient languages.—* 
Jonathan and David. — ^Abraham's rescue of Lot. — Scipio'8 
affection for Leliusw— The unhappiness of the marriage state 
when the union of the parties is not cemented by friend- 
ship. — Its happiness when it is so cemented. — The pleasures 
and benefits arising from this feeling in retirement, especially 
when accompanied with a taste for literature. — ^In such a 
state of retirement, benevolent minds are apt to form pro- 
jects of improvement without sufficiently estimating the ob- 
stacles that lie in the way of their accomplishment, when 
they are often saved from rash undertakings by yielding to 
the advice of an intelligent friend. — Some subjects of literary 
recreation in which retired friends are apt to indulge.— 
Poetry.— History. — ^Religion.— The powerful effects of confi- 
dential intercourse with an intelligent friend in relieving the 
terrors which arise in the minds of some men concerning 
their future destiny, instanced in the advantage which the 

333 



394 piBASURBs or friendship. 

poet Ckywper derived from his intimacy with the Rer. Mr. 
Unwin. — The work of Man's Redemption is introduced, it 
being the most extensive and sublime instance of friendship 
ever ezhibited.«-The poem concludes by taking notioe of 
fittt delightful friendship which will for ever exist among 
the blest in heaven. 



THE 

PLEASURES OP FRIENDSHIP. 

PART n. 



Hark, with a sneer yon misanthrope exclaim. 
All men are false, and friendship but a name ! 
That wisdom teaches with distrust to view 
The world^s regards as treacherous and untrue ; 
That acts of friendship but in self commence. 
That sordid motives prompt benevolence ! 
That tender pity, and those feelings strong. 
Which rouse the patriot's arm, the poet's song ; 
That generous love which, in the tender page. 
Enchants the mind at youth's unthinking age ; 
All these, when truth shall scrutinize severe. 
Shall in their naked hues of self appear. 
Invented merely in pedantic schools. 
To draw the minds of children and o€ fools ! 

O ! ye to nature^s purest joys unknown. 
Can ye presume to judge with hearts of stone, 
The throbs that actuate an immortal soul, 
O'er which eternal wisdom has control ! 

28 335 , 



336^ THE PLEASURES 

Think ye the stature of each heaven-born mind, 
To the mean measure of your own confined ! 
As well the sluggpish owl that courts the night 
Might check the eagle in his sun-ward flight, 
And ^ink because to him it is not given, 
No nobler bird can face the light of heaven ! 

O ! cease, ye vile, injurious slanderers, cease ! 
Nor boast your torpid feelings lullM to peace ! 
We enyy not your clay-cold hearts that know 
No joy in rescuing other hearts from wo ; 
We envy not the indurated tone 
Of feelings touched but for yourselves alone. 
In vain to you, from nature's bounteous hand, 
Your fellow men are blest in every land : 
Not ev'n the joys your kindest brethren know, 
Can bid your dull sensations warmly glow.«- 
Lost to delight of every generous kind, 
The glowing fancy and enraptured mind, 
Th' ecstatic throb that ardent bosoms warms 
When lovers rush into each others arms. 
Or pledging oft their tender vows anew, 
In melting sorrow bid a long adieu ! 

O ! lives there, Heaven ! of human form possess'd. 
Who doubts the purity of Howard's breast. 
Or who contemns, with hateful impious thought. 
The manVho deeds befitting angels wrought % 
His home, his ease, his pleasure he forsakes. 
Around the world th' unwearied journey takes, 



OF FRIENDBHIP. 33^ 

While Heaven's own ardours in his boflom glow, 
To blunt misfortune's poignancy below. 

Lo ! where in poverty's neglected cell, 
Pain, want, and modesty are forced to dwell ; 
Where pride disdains to stoop, and wealth goes by 
With mutter'd insults and averted eye ! 
Unhoped-for aid his willing hand bestows. 
And health and comfort reinstate repose. 

Behold in prison walls where guilt is laid. 
Where all the forms of misery invade, 
Where wretched felons breathe infectious air. 
And victims of oppression find despair ! 
Harsh sounds the clanking of the murderer's chain. 
With groans, and loathsome jests, and oaths pro- 
fane ! 
There see the messenger of comfort come. 
Despair is hush'd, and blasphemy is dumb ! 
Health takes the place of feebleness and pain. 
And anarchy submits to order's reign ! 
Repentant scoffers now no more are rude. 
And harden'd sinners glow with gratitude ! 

Illustrious pattern for the friends of man! 
Whose stream of life in heavenly currents ran ; 
Long shall thy name by nations be revered. 
To every feeling, virtuous heart endear'd ! 
When kings and conquerors, to the dust consign'd, 
Shall be forgot, or hated by mankind, 



398 THK PLEASURES 

Thy memory still, as age to age succeeds, 
Shall roase admiring men to yirtuous deeds ; 
And, grrayed on every noble heart, thy name 
Shall still be dear to charity and fame ! 
Whence men shall learn the holiest acts below, 
To seek the wretched, and relieve their wo ! 

O, charity ! thou lovely, soft-eyed maid. 
Who shunn'st the hannts of riot and parade ; 
Opposed to fashion, luxury, and pride. 
Thou cling'st to merit's unobtrusive side ! 
Delighted with the honest mind to stray 
Afar from dissipation's noisy way. 
Afar from where the mercenary train 
Of aTarioe toil their venal ends to gain ; 
Deep in the covert of the silent shade, 
Thou find'st the unhappy, and thou givest them aid I 
O ! fairest offspring of indulgent Heaven, 
To wretched sons of men in mercy given. 
From thee what inexhausted blessings flow. 
To equalize the wrongs of fate below! 
The social throb, the tender-streaming eye. 
The cheering voice, the heart-expressing sigh. 
The open hand the needy to relieve. 
And the kind heart the erring to forgive :— 
O ! never leave the world while it contains 
One breast that sorrows, or one deed that paina. 
One anguish'd breast, by harsh oppression torn. 
Or grieved by hate, or taught by love to mourn. 



or FRIENDSHIP. 829 

Be still our gaide to happier realms afar, 
Onr daily pillar, and our nightly star ! 
O ! melt the flinty hearts of wealth and pride. 
Teach them tile tender joys by thee supplied; 
Teach them those hostile passions to control. 
Which shut the heart, and brutalize the soul ; 
Close those foul deeds inhuman self began. 
And make repentant man the friend of man ! 

True ; oft the honest mind has tried in vain 
One genuine friend among mankind to gain ; 
Full oft the false profession has believed. 
And, still when most assured, was most deceiyed ! 
Has felt affection with neglect repaid. 
Has felt the bitter pang of faith betray'd. 
The slanderous tongue, the harsh insulting tnoody 
Th* unfounded charge, the base ingratitude ! 

Nay, there are men, most cuist of all below, 
Who hot assume the friend to act the foe ; 
Who, like the yiper lurking in the breast, 
Insnare our peace, then stab, and stand confest ! 
From such may gfuardian spirits keep me free. 
The hell-born sons of foul hypocrisy ! 
Of all the evils that on life attend. 
The most heartrending is a treacherous friend : 
For, O ! a friend whose heart is true and warm, 
Life's purest blessing, and its dearest chamw- 
ProportionM to the joy from him we gain. 
Harsh disappointment brings a weight of pain ! 

28* 



990 THK PLEASURC8 

Bat, ah ! profane not friendship's sacred name ; 
Call these not friends; of spurious brood they eame. 
Like the night-meteor of the swampy way, 
'^hat lures the wanderer with deceitful^ay : 
To his fond wish some cottage light it seems. 
And, warm with hope, he follows where it gleams ; 
But sinks at once, deserted in the gloom 
Of some overwhelming marsh, to meet his doom. 
So baleful flattery — such is human fate — 
May, clothed in friendship's garb, usurp his seat, 
And his deceitful front in smUes array. 
Till some unguarded victim fall his prey ! 

But how unwise, ye who from this suppose 
That in the human breast no friendship glows ! 
As well, false reasoners ! might ye contest 
That genuine lof e ne'er warm'd the virgin breast, 
Because a heartless race with selfish view. 
Have boasted transports which they aever knew I 
As well suppose no piety Jut earth, « 

Because the world has given an atheist birth ! 
Or that BO age can faithfulness afford. 
Because a Judas once betray'd his Lord ! 

Yes, there are men benevolence may tru^t, 
Whose hearts are faithful and whose aiBis are just; 
Whose liberal minds extend to all the raoe, 
Whose acts redeem the species from disgTace ; 
And who, enamourM of fair virtue's charms. 
With w«nii affection spread their ardent arms, 



OF rRlENDSHlP. 331 

To all whose bosoms can with theirs combine 
In generous acts, and charity divine ! 

Saeh was that holy man, when here below, * « 
Who taught my heart the charms of lore to know,— 
Taught me to feel the pleasures of the soul. 
And bade my firstling thoughts in numbers roll. 
Oft as I would, in short excursions, try 
On half-fiedged wings, through fancy's realms to fly, 
My feeble flights he kindly loved to aid. 
When falling, raised-— restored me when I stray'd.— • 
Blest shade ! now throned amidst the choirs above. 
If still thy once loved pupil shares thy love. 
Transmit a portion of that ray divine 
Which warm'd thy soul and bid it rest on min^ ! 
That I, like thee, may draw from nature's page, 
A poet's joy, the profit of a sage ; 
Like thee, may seize, with impulse deep and strongs 
Those magic tints that charm the heart in song ! 
So that my verse a power like thine may claim. 
To fire mankind with friendship's noble flame, 
And teach each heart what oft thou taught'st to mine 1 
That love of human kind is love divine ! 

Foorgive my tears, if for his loss they flow. 
The first best friend I ever lost below. — 
Long shall his flock with pious sorrow moarn 
The day their pastor from their souls was ton* 
No pert theatric orator was he, 
Nor stuffed with pride of stem austerity ; 



333 THE PLEASURES 

A leam'd dirine, meek, simple, and sincere, 

He preachM as if he felt our souls were dear ; 

His style impressive, dignified, and plain, 

With power to- strengthen faith, and guilt restrain; 

He strongly felt the truths he would impart, 

And, speaking from the heart, he touch'd the heart ! 

Each word inspired some conscience-stirring thought. 

Or warmM our souls within us while he taught. 

No wealth, no grandeur, rank, nor fashion's pride. 

Had charms to draw his steady mind aside ; 

With equal love his people he survey'd, 

Nor knew distinction but what virtae made. 

When pious fears the bosom would molest, 

When pain or penury would probe the breast. 

His syofpathizing aid was ever near. 

To ease the anguish and dispel the fear : 

The troubled soul saw heaven-born Mercy shiney 

And felt the solace of the word divine ! 

Such did he live, our blessing to the end. 
Our guide, example, minister, and friend ! 
And when his Master bade his labours close. 
Triumphant on salvation's wings he rose ! 
And, like the seer who died on PisgaVs hill, 
Thoygh now he speaks no more, he teaches still ; 
Teaches from sin's alluring paths to fly, 
To live like Christians and like saints to die ! 
His loved example fires each serious breast, 
To live as virtuous and to die as blest ; 



or FRIENDSHIP. 833 

Makes bright religion pleasing to our eyes. 
And fills ooT soals with ardour for the skies ! 
Thus, ere yon golden orb that rules the day. 
Withdraws from smiling earth his fading ray, 
He lends a lustre to adorn the night, 
'And bids the gilded moon prolong the light: 
She brightly sheds a glory not her own, 
And light still lingers though its lord be gone ! 

How bright the royal heir of Israel's throne. 
In thy blest cause, celestial Friendship, shone I 
When waudering David on his aid relied. 
He cast ambition'-s potent claims aside. 
No selfish feelings in his breast contend ; 
He joys to lose his throne to save his friend ! 
With grief he sees his father's malice rise, 
And to the persecuted hero flies, 
And gives the faithful signal of alarm, 
Which saves the brother of his soul from harm. 

And all his love in fond remembrance kept. 
For Jonatiian the bard of Judah wept, 
Pour'd o'er his royal harp th' elegiac strain. 
And mourn'd his dearest friend in battle slain. 
And when misfortune overtook his race. 
He sought, he found them^ drew them from dis- 
grace; 
And long to scenes endear'd in youth awake, 
Rewards the children for the father's sake. 



334 THE PLEASURES 

O ! what solicitude thy soul imprest, 
What ^enerons thirst of vengeance fired thy breast. 
Thou highly favour'd of the Power Divine, 
Great patriarch ! father of the Hebrew line, 
When first the mournful tale was told to thee, 
Of Siddim's fight, and Lot's captivity ! 
Although to fighting fields unused, unknown. 
With sudden valour now thy spirit shone ! 
Though kings combined, with hosts in long array,— 
A warlike train, — ^were vanquish'd on that day ; 
Yet fearless thou the victors wouldst pursue ; 
Thy warriors faithful, but their numbers few, 
To stand or fall in virtue's cause engage. 
And warmly glow th' unequal war to wage ! 
Soon join the combat with heroic fire. 
While friendship and revenge their souls inspire ; 
And soon compel their haughty foes to yield, 
Who trembling fly the memorable field ! 
The plundered substance of thy friends again. 
And thy loved Lot, and all his captive train. 
Thus nobly rescued by affection's sword, 
To home, to love, and friendship are restored. 

How pleased the hero whom fair wisdom, fires. 
When toil is o'er, to friendship's rale retires ! 
Though for a while imperious duty claim 
His deeds of valour on the fields of fame ; 
Though honour prompt him at his country's call, 
O'er her proud foes to triumph or to fall ; 



OF f'riendship. 335 

And though victorious in her sacred cause. 
He hears assembled thousands shout applause, 
And with a grateful nation's blessings crown'd * 
Sees wealth and honours all his deeds surround, 
Yet still he. feels a purer 'wish arise. 
Than fame, or power, or grandeur e'er supplies,-^ 
A wish to know, when all his labours close, 
In friendship's shade the sweetness of repose. 

Thus Scipio, conqueror of the Punic state^ 
Who crush'd his country's foes and made her great. 
When ardent Romans, gathering round his car. 
Bore him triumphant midst the spoils of war ; 
With zeal transported on that glorious day. 
They wish'd to clothe him with a sovereign's sway ; 
The generous hero felt his soul on flame, 
' Borne on the wings of triumph and of fame: 
But victor o'er himself, as o'er his foes. 
He check'd ambition's impulse as it rose ; 
To wisdom's whispering voice inclined his ear 
Thought of sweet peace, and Lelius ever dear ; 
And fled from glory's car to friendship's dell. 
With Lelius and philosophy to dwell ; 
Rejoiced and happy that he had, for them. 
Rejected Rome's imperial diadem ! 

In youth, when wild tumultuous passions reign. 
And lead th' enraptured pair to Hymen's fane, 
Ere cautious wisdom can perform her part, 
To mark esteem presiding in the heart ; 



996 THE PLKA8VRE8 

Soon as the tramient grast of passion difls, 
When doyingr charms no longer please the eyes, 
The lovely goddesar that our fancy drew, 
Becomes insipid, and our joys nntme ! 
If in the conformation of her mind 
We search in vain some pleasing charm to find. 
The loves and graces that adpm'd her frame, 
And fired the heart with nnresisted flame, 
May still shine forth as lovety and as bright, 
. But, ah ! no rapture now attends the sight ! 
Our days pass slow and sad on life's dark streamy 
Unblest by love, unbrightenM by esteem. 

But when the nuptial rite together binds 
Two ardent hearts and corresponding minds ; 
When something more than passion's throb controls 
The mutual admiration of their souls ; 
When in each other they enraptured find 
The grace of conduct and the light of mind. 
The lovely temper wisdom still attains. 
The constant heart where fond affection reigns ; 
O ! then, when youth and vigour shall decay. 
When all external charms shall fade away. 
The happy pair, delighted, fond, and true, 
Shall feel the sweets of love for ever new ! 
Shall see, perhaps, an offspring bless their sight, 
Good^ like themselveB, the soaree of new delight ! 
And, O I when generous feelings shall appear 
To animate those infhnt bosoms dear. 



or FRIENDSHIP. 3S7 

What sweet emotions they shall feel the while. 
And fondly watch each other as they smile ! 
Thus in their mntaal lore supremely blest, 
They glide through life and calmly sink to resti 
Their mortal parts to kindred dust retumM, 
By Tirtue honourM and by friend^ip moum'd ! 

Far from the world retired to rural shades. 
Where toilaome dissipation ne'er invades, 
How blest the man whose peaceful days are spent, 
In easy exercise, and calm content ! 
Who with the lark salutes the early dawn. 
Breathes ruddy health from every brtezy lawn. 
And oft disposed to work ihe fruitful soil, 
Feels dignity and pleasure in the toil ! 
How happy he, if in his bosom glows 
' A taste for social joy and leam'd repose ! 
O ! then, each heartfelt pleasure to endear. 
Let some beloved and faithful friend be near. 
With whom to search the bright instructive ptfB, 
And wisdom learn from many an hononr'd sage. 
Each noble art and science to explore. 
Or trace th' alluring charms of classic lore ; 
Shall bid his leisure hours delighted flow. 
And wrest ihe sting from every ill below. 

If, to iaventioft'e pleasing power reeigii'd,^ 
Some useful projeet animates his mind. 
Intent on what &e public good requires, 
^ Or friendship's more endearing claim inspires; 

39 



338 THE PLEASURES 

The plan, how wise, how rational, how just 
Full many a time is o*er and o'er discuss'd : 
Then shall his watchful friend, with cautious view, 
Descry the path which prudence should pursue. 
And show, while this a useful end may gain. 
That but an idle fancy of the brain ! 

Produce the taper at the twilight hour. 
And yield the soul to friendship's social power ; 
Let memory there her richest stores supply 
Of song or tale, to bid the moments fiy ; 
And though the wintry tempests rage the while. 
Domestic legen<^ shall the night beguile ; 
Or literary taste its charms impart. 
To please the fancy and improve the heart ; 
Or disputation's friendly power delight, 
Inform the mind, and set the judgment right. 

Come thou, sweet poetry ! thou nymph divine, 
And let us feel those thrilling charms of thine. 
Which raise the soul terrestrial cares above, 
To holy warmth, benevolence, and love ! 
'And, ye whose hearts the social spirit warms. 
Come, for ye best can feel the muse's charms,-— 
Let Shakspeare's magic o'er your souls prevail ; 
Or yield a tear to Eloisa's tale : 
Let Thomson's muse a patriot warmth impart. 
Or sweetly flowing Goldsmith touch the heart: 
Or on Miltonian wings ascend the skies. 
To realms sublime, unseen by mortal eyes ;>- 



or fhibndship. ' 339 

At Heaven's bright throne kn^l, tremble, and adore, 

Or Eden's loss with sorrowing hearts deplore: 

Or from th' enriching philosophic strain 

Of Cowper's verse, the wealth of wisdom gain; 

Learn how to shape the devious course of life, 

And blunt or bear its malice and its strife.—- 

Let Scotia's peasant bard his numbers roll. 

In warmth of heart and dignity of soul ; 

And feel the independent throb divine. 

That fires each thought and breathes in every line ! 

O ! brings th' immortal bard of Gaelic song, 
Whose genius pours the torrent verse along. 
And bids the tale of other times inspire 
The heart with passion and the soul with fire ! 
Fingal's great deeds excite th' heroic glow. 
Who ne'er forsook his friend, nor fled his foe ! 
But in each generous cause his might display'd. 
Avenged th' oppress'd, and gave the needy aid ! 

Let Byron's lay in deep-toned pathos swell, 
The stormy workings of the soul to tell ; 
And boldly spread before a wondering world. 
Its vices broadly to the daty unfurl'd. 

Or should our Living Bards* your thoughts engage, 
Whose varied strains delight th' admiring age ; 



Living in 1825. 



340 THE PLEAtVR£9 

Lo! Fbikhdsbip wannstthem with her noblest flame 

To aid each other in the walks of fame; 

Delightful concord ! holy love divine ! 

How blest and worthy of the sacred nine ! 

What praise, what honours mark your golden reign ! 

What lasting glory for the muse's train ! 

Hark ! from their harps enraptured measures flow, 

As if hearen's minstrelsy were heard below ! 

O ! hear romantic Scott recall the time 
When love was virtue, cowardice was crime ! 
The bard of chiyaliy, whose strains delight 
To sing the beauteous maid and charging knight ; 
With pride we see our valiant sires advance 
To storm the castle, or to break the lance 1 
What noble fires Fitz-James's deeds awake ! 
How sweetly charms fair Ellen of the Lake ! 

Hark ! Southey, master of the potent song. 
That o'er th' imagination deep and strong. 
With wild emotion pours its mighty flood. 
And speaks the fierce Apostate's direful mood ! 
What awful scenes his magic verse displays— 
Kehama's curse, and Roderic's vengeful days ! 

And hear Montgomery's pious strains impart 
The glow of virtue to th' awaken'd heart. 
Whether his lays Helvetian woes record. 
When freedom sank beneath the Gallic sWord ; 



or FRIENDSHIP. 341 

Or touching Jayan's softer lyre, to move 
The youthful mind, he turns it all to love, 
He ne'er forgets the muse's noblest end, 
To make us feel that virtue is our friend ! 

Or from th' impressive strains of Campbell know 
How hope's blest visions charm the fiercest wo ; 
When from tlie wretch each blessing disappears, 
His friend she lingers still, and dries his tears ! 
Our hearts confess, as future joys unfold, 
Sweet is the tale of hope, and sweetly told ! 

Now let the bard, whose song in memory's praise. 
Recalls the pleasures of our former days. 
Declare his joys, who can in age renew 
Those scenes that strongly blest, but swiftly flew ! 

O ! if melodious Moore his harp has strung 
To tones as sweet as ever poet sung ; 
If Erin's praise his ardent numbers tell. 
Or love's own raptures in the measures swell. 
Till warming beauty blushes in the strain, 
And mantling pleasures o'er the senses reign ; 
Then from your soul all meaner cares disperse, 
And riot in the luxury of verse ! 

Or let the muse of history relate 
The world's long story, human nature's fate ! 
Mark bold ambition seize imperial sway, 
While prostrate nations tremble and obey ! 

29* 



349 THE PLEASURES 

Ef^n feeble Xerxes holds the tyraDt's rod, 

With half mankind submissive to his nod. 

Then mark how freedom's spirit brightly glows, 

And calls for mighty vengeance on her foes ! 

See Grecian virtue raise the standard high, 

The proud invader and his millions fly ; 

For, clothed in wrath, when freedom's sons appear. 

Though few, they teach unnumber'd foes to fear ; 

The soul that fires them every danger braves, 

Nor dreads a tyrant's host composed of slaves I 

Lo ! Tarquin humbled I mighty Brutus see ! 

He grasps the sword that sets his country free : 

Hark I the dread vows that Roman souls inflame, 

That burst their country's chains and stamp her fiime ! 

Now let Britannia's glorious tale explain 
How great Eliza bade her rule the main ; 
And how the noble fire of Hampden shone. 
When bound to earth he heard his country gxoao-*- 
Swift at his call she bursts th' inglorious chain. 
And with resistless force is free again ! 
O ! mark the wondrous powers of Chatham's soul, 
That held ambitious Europe in control ; 
Corruption trembled at his virtuous frown. 
And vanquish'd Bourbon lost the laurel crown. 
See Burke ! the prince of orators, arise — 
Grace in his gestures, lightning in his eyes ; 
He bears his audience on his eagle flight, 
As boldly soaring to the source of light. 



OF rRiBNDSHir. 943 

He grasps a ray to fire the dablous mind, 

And bids preyailing truth instruct mankind. 

Proud o'er the waves, see conquering Nelson wwoef 

Each hostile banner from the subject deep ! 

A numerous band of heroes by his side. 

The terror of the world, their country's pride !— 

Lo ! Salamanca's field the wreath display, 

Or dreadful Waterloo's more bloody day ! 

The mighty deeds by Erin's warrior done. 

The scourge of tyrants, conquering Wellingt<« ! 

But, O ! what name in history's page so bright, 
Whose story gives the world such pure delight, 
As his, who in Columbian wilds afar, 
Where sylvan nature courts the western star, 
With steady energy to battle led 
Those patriot bands who bravely fought and bled ; 
And, like their chief, had sworn by all on high, 
To conquer in their country's cause— -or die ! 
What glory crowns fair freedom's dariing son. 
The boast of men—immortal WASHiNGTOif ! 

When that blest day which gives the poor man 
The Christian Sabbath — warms the pious breast; 
When jboly ardours animate the mind 
To leave jth/e sordid cares of earth behind,— 
The soul disposed to rise to themes sublime. 
Of God, of heaven, and pever-endingtime! 
O ! thea, with warm affectioos placed <above, 
How ^weet to wander through the sacred grove. 



344 THIS PliEASCRKS 

Whose waving foliaf e shades the house of God, 
And points the soul to her desired abode ! 
Ah ! then let friendship hear the heart unfold 
The snares she 'scaped, the passions she controll'd ; 
The firm belief that points her views on high. 
The fears that check, the hopes that bid her try. 

Should restless doubt the heavenward prospect blind. 
Or grim despondency overwhelm the mind, 
O ! then be friendship's aid for ever near, 
To strengthen hope, and chase the pangs of fear. 

Unhappy Cawper ! o'er thy troubled soul. 
Long time despair possess'd a stern control : 
Thy spirit felt the fast-consuming flame. 
And daily sunk thy melancholy frame. 
In vain the power of healing art was tried, 
Reason and pastime were in vain applied ; 
Vain were the charms of taste, the smiles of love, 
Naught could the anguish of thy soul remove. 
Till friendship came in reverend Unwin's form, 
Relieved the terror and suppress'd the storm ! 
The cordial balm of confidence convey'd 
Peace to the mind, and all its fears allay'd ; 
Renew'd the frame with health, and o'er the soul. 
Bade reason's power resume her just control. 

Sire of creation ! when thy mighty call 
Prodnced the heavens, and this terrestrial ball ; 



OF FRIENDSHIP. 345 

When heaTing nature startled at thy word, 

And liviDg spirits first adored their Lord ; 

Th' eternal purpose moved within thy breasti 

To form the race of man beloved and blest : 

And pure and good, as Heaven's own seraph band. 

Our race first issued from thy forming hand. 

To guilt, and pain, and sorrow all unknown^ 

God was our shield, and paradise our own! 

In love's own bower th' ambrosial feast was spready 

And holy angels blest the nightly bed ;«• 

Refreshing streams with soothing murmurs flow, 

Soft, whispering gales with balmy fragrance blow | 

The fruits, the flowers, the music of the grove, 

Tell all is happiness and all is love ! 

But soon the tempter bade our bosoms swell 
With vain desires,— *we ventured and we fell ! 
In wretched state how helpless then we lay 
Beneath Heaven's wrath, that flamed in fierce amy I 
Could angels save us I could repentant tears 
Arrest th' unsparing sword that Justice 'bears ! 
Ah ! no*-in vain ev'n pity pleads our cause : 
Can she appease Heaven's violated laws I 
Can seraph tears indemnity provide 
For Heaven insulted. Deity defied ?-— 
But mark how bright th' Eternal Mercy shone 
The Heir of Heaven hath made our cause his own I 
Almighty Power is offer'd in our stead. 
And sin, and death, and hell are captive led ! 



346 PLBASURB8 Or FRIENDSHIP. 

Heaven's boandlese love has paid the debt we owed, 
Bestored our souls lo happiness and God ! 
Our songs shall hence in grateful anthems rise. 
To Love divine, and Friendship in the skies ! 

Wiien all sublunar joys and griefs are o'er ; 
When nature feels her latest pang no more ; 
When this fair world, and yonder orbs of fire, 
Shall hear th' Almighty thunder, and expire ! 
O ! then, in realms where Hope's illusive ray 
Shall yield to joy's interminable day ; 
Where Memory's power no feelings shall renew. 
But sueh as spring from scenes of loveliest hue ; 
Where Fancy's visions never shall employ 
One charm unmingled with the purest joy ; — 
Blest Friendship ever unimpair'd shall dwell. 
And, with warm influence of celestial spell. 
Divinely charm each sainted heart above. 
And teach the sons of Heaven immortal love ! 



THE END. 



%• 







*•